


unread letter day

by shellfishDimes



Category: Block B, Winner (Band), iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - To All the Boys I've Loved Before Fusion, Bisexual Character, Canon Compliant, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sexuality Crisis, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-18 09:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17578631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellfishDimes/pseuds/shellfishDimes
Summary: There are five letters, unsent, in an old shoebox on the top shelf of Minho's closet, where the cats can't get to them.There are five people Song Minho had given his love to.Five parts of his life. Five similarly, but so differently shaped loves, poured out on paper because they can't be expressed otherwise. Five forever unsent envelopes, in a box, on a shelf, in a closet, in a room in a Seoul apartment.The box sits. The sun sets, and rises again. Minho puts his loves on paper so there's room for other things in his mind and heart, like schedules, and lyrics, and art, and mundanities. Leaves turn brown on the trees in Seoul.Time passes. The world spins on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here it is. the huge _to all the boys I've loved before_ winner/ikon/block b au fusion thing. based and set in canon, only deviating from it slightly.
> 
> thanks from the absolute bottom of my heart to [madanach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madanach/) for the beta.
> 
> you can find me on twitter under [fanxytelevision](http://twitter.com/fanxytelevision). do not hesitate to yell at me there or in the comments or both.

It was always easier for Minho to sort his thoughts if he put them out into the physical space. He drew: flowers, and goblins, and his friends, people at the airport, and Jhonny, the landscape from the car window. He tried sculpting, from clay that stuck to his fingers and gave him pink eye when he accidentally rubbed his eyes without washing his hands. He painted: letting his thoughts flow from his head through his arm and onto the canvas in colours and shapes. He wrote: in notebooks, on sketch pads, in planners and diaries, on walls in bathrooms across the globe. 

And he wrote letters. And he kept them in an old shoebox on a shelf in his closet at home, where the cats couldn't get to them.

It helped, thinking hard about every word and spelling it out on the page. There was something intensely satisfying about it, like the _fwip_ of pulling out card after card from the deck, the swish of placing them on the table one after the other and seeing the pieces form a whole. 

There were four letters. Each one was written on a different type of paper — torn out of a notebook, ripped out of a sketchbook, stolen from a set of hotel stationary, bought on a whim in a store somewhere in London. Each one was in a sealed, addressed envelope. Licking the glue, sticking it closed, and writing out a name and address in precise letters gave it a finality. Like pulling all the cards together into the deck again, and sliding them back into the pack. 

There were four names, in chronological order. Woo Jiho. Kwon Jiyong. Nam Taehyun. Kim Jiwon.

And then, on Minho's desk there is a mint coloured envelope — from a set of stationary he'd bought at a little shop in Myeongdong — unsealed, not addressed. 

_I feel guilty sometimes about how glad I was that it was just the two of us in London, how jealous I was because you looked like royalty in that red jacket. Remember when we got drunk from the free champagne and ended up in that gay bar in Soho, and we spent the rest of the night dancing? When we were walking back to the hotel, I wanted to kiss you so badly. When you hugged me under the red lanterns in Chinatown, outside that place where we got bubble tea the next morning. I wanted to kiss your drunken smile right off your handsome face. Would you have let me, if I'd asked you?_

Minho folds the paper. He puts it in the envelope. He licks the glue, and seals it closed. He turns the envelope over, and writes a name. He puts the letter in the shoebox, on top of the others. 

There are five names, in chronological order. Woo Jiho. Kwon Jiyong. Nam Taehyun. Kim Jiwon. Lee Seunghoon. 

There are five letters, unsent, in an old shoebox on the top shelf of Minho's closet, where the cats can't get to them. 

There are five people Song Minho had given his love to.

First, Woo Jiho. Who'd always laughed at Minho's jokes and messed up his hair and encouraged him to work harder, and Minho thought he'd hung the moon. 

Then, Kwon Jiyong, who he couldn't look at without blushing and feeling like he was about to have an anxiety attack at the same time, who saw him rap and told him _great job, Minho-yah,_ which meant Minho could not stop smiling for a week. 

And then, Nam Taehyun, who he'd held hands with, who he'd kissed on the cheek, whose tears had sodden his favourite shirt, in whose arms he'd fallen asleep enough times that he didn't want to know how it felt to do that with anyone else. 

And Kim Jiwon, who was the kindest, the humblest person Minho had ever known, whose amount of talent was truly frightening, who made Minho laugh until he cried, and who made his heart flutter when he winked at him. Who made his heart stop when he told him, in a hush, in a car on a motorway on the way to an airport, with a smile so wide his face looked about to split in half, that Kim Hanbin had kissed him, yes, like _that,_ and that they were boyfriends now. 

And lastly, guiltily, Lee Seunghoon, with his dorky laugh, his effortless style, his warm eyes and his graceful, gorgeous hands that Minho wants everywhere at once. 

Five boys, five letters. Five parts of his life. Five similarly, but so differently shaped loves, poured out on paper because they can't be expressed otherwise. Five forever unsent envelopes, in a box, on a shelf, in a closet, in a room in a Seoul apartment. 

The box sits. The sun sets, and rises again. Minho puts his loves on paper so there's room for other things in his mind and heart, like schedules, and lyrics, and art, and mundanities. Leaves turn brown on the trees in Seoul.

Time passes. The world spins on.

  


* * *

  


It's two months later, and Minho is pretty sure he's in the middle of an intervention.

"You have too many clothes," Seunghoon says, thumbing through the hangers in Minho's closet with all the finesse of a professional. 

" _You_ have too many clothes," Minho retorts intelligently. 

"I'm serious. When have you ever worn this?" Seunghoon pulls out a maroon cardigan. It has black elbow patches and big black buttons. 

"I've never seen that thing before," Minho says. 

Seunghoon groans. "That's what I'm saying!"

"it's probably Jinwoo hyung's."

"Hey, don't you dare bring me into this," Jinwoo says from the bed. He's pinned down by Bei's weight. He's sleeping on his chest and Jinwoo is playing a game on his phone over the cat's little bald head. 

Minho is sitting on the floor, his back against the bed. "Hyung," he whines. 

"I hate elbow patches," Jinwoo says. "They make me look like an old woman."

Seunghoon hums, and pulls out another hanger. "And this? How old is this?" It's a white shirt with a ruff collar. "Someone died in that."

"It's vintage," Minho says. 

"So I'm right."

"Fashion is cyclical. It's gonna come back in style," Minho insists. 

"Fashion isn't going to regress back to the sixteenth century," Seunghoon says. He slips the shirt off the hanger, pinching it at the shoulder like he's holding a dead thing, and drops it to the floor.

"You could make a good thing out of a bad thing and donate it to charity, Minho-yah," Seungyoon says from the bed. He's sitting next to Jinwoo, propped up against the headboard and watching Seunghoon rifle through Minho's wardrobe. 

"I hate that you're doing this," Minho says. 

"Me too," says Jinwoo. "I was going to have an afternoon nap today, maybe do a double sheet mask routine. I was going to _relax,_ " he says, stroking Bei's head in the most confrontational manner possible. "Instead, we're having an intervention."

"Seriously, why do you have two of these bags?" Seunghoon calls, on his knees now, looking through a box. 

"It's Supreme," Minho says without even looking, like it should be self-explanatory. Jhonny pads over from somewhere and starts making herself a bed out of the shirt Seunghoon had dropped on the floor. Minho doesn't even try to stop her. 

"Minho-yah," Seungyoon says gently. He shifts on the bed, and then his hands are on Minho's shoulders. He starts massaging the stiff muscles there.

Minho exhales, closing his eyes. "You're manipulating me."

"There's people in the world who barely have enough to dress themselves," Seungyoon says. His fingers work at a knot in Minho's back, and Minho feels the muscle relax.

"Also, you'll get more closet space for more clothes," Seunghoon says, wrapping a silk scarf around his head. 

"Hoon!" 

"Sorry, hyung."

Minho grouses. "If I say yes to getting rid of a third of my clothes, will you all get out of my room?"

Seungyoon hums. He clicks his tongue. His hands stop moving on Minho's shoulders, and Minho whines. "We said half."

"Seungyoonie—"

"Minho-yah." He's using his leader voice, and Minho hates that, because it means he's serious, and he won't back down. He starts massaging Minho's shoulders again. He hits all the right spots, even that knot on Minho's left side that's been bothering him for days. Minho feels his annoyance pale and dissipate.

Minho sighs. "Alright. Fine. Half."

"Thank you," Jinwoo says. Seunghoon punches the air and yells out some kind of war cry he's probably heard in American movies. 

"Great," Seungyoon says, and Minho can't see him, but he can hear his smile. "We'll help you pack it all up."

  


* * *

  


"Have you ever thought about what it'd be like? Dating, I mean?" Seungyoon asks.

It's just before Christmas, and they're in Seungyoon and Seunghoon's apartment, having their monthly drama night. They just got a bigger sofa, because Thor had pissed on the other one and there was no way to get the smell out. The drama for this week was, uncharacteristically, picked by Seungyoon. Jinwoo is the one who usually always picks, because he watches the most dramas out of all of them, but there's a new one out that Seungyoon had wanted to watch. The usual stuff: rich CEO, poor but sympathetic and intelligent protagonist. The twist is that the CEO is female and that the poor protagonist is a guy. Minho doesn't hate it, but he's also not really taken by it.

"What's brought this on?" Minho laughs after he's done chewing on his popcorn. 

"Aw, is our Yoonie getting emotional?" Seunghoon asks with a smirk. His feet are in Minho's lap, and whenever he moves them, Minho squeezes one of his ankles, which makes him wiggle his toes. It's a game they play, and it gets Minho's heart beating a little warmer.

"I love you all, don't get me wrong, but," Seungyoon says, "every once in a while, on a Friday night, or at Christmas, I'd like to be able to go out with like." He pauses, thinking for a brief second. He settles on, "A romantic partner." He bumps his shoulder softly against Minho's. "Don't you agree, Minho-yah?"

"Huh, why me?" Minho asks. Seunghoon wiggles his toes. Minho rubs his ankle, the one that hurts after dance practice sometimes. "I'm perfectly happy hanging out with you guys like this."

"I think everyone would be happier if they had someone to love like that," Seungyoon says. "And if they could do it the way they wanted to." He sighs, and leans across Minho to get to the bowl of popcorn. He grabs a fistful, and starts picking kernel by kernel from it and popping them into his mouth individually. On screen, the CEO is slowly realising she has feelings for the protagonist even though they bicker all the time. "I'd like to experience the kind of love people write songs about," Seungyoon says.

"Wait," Jinwoo says, as a sappy love song starts playing in the drama, "you've never dated anyone?"

They all turn to look at him. "You have?" Seungyoon asks, momentarily getting distracted from his popcorn.

"I'm twenty seven," Jinwoo says, like he doesn't need to explain it any further.

While they're all staring, Seunghoon steals some of Seungyoon's popcorn from his hand. "A romantic partner," he chuckles to himself. "What are you, seventy? Just say _girlfriend._ " Minho blinks, wondering why that word felt like it hurt.

Seungyoon frowns. "Doesn't have to be a girl," he mutters, and Minho realises, oh, that's why.

"Oh my _god,_ Yoonie," Seunghoon drawls through a mouth full of popcorn, at the same time that Minho turns to Jinwoo and says, "So why haven't you told us?"

"I'm sure you don't tell me about everyone you've slept with," Jinwoo says matter-of-factly, shrugging.

"'S gotta be some secrets," Seunghoon nods, still chewing. "Otherwise." He swallows. "It'd be too much, right? We live in each other's pockets as it is already."

Minho thinks about his letters, sitting in their box. He used to take them out, periodically, whenever he needed to remind himself how strong his emotions could run. He stopped, after a while, and sealed them all. There was no need to read through them anymore — he could recall each one perfectly, anyway.

"Have you ever been in love, hyung?" Seungyoon asks. Nobody is watching the drama anymore.

Jinwoo exhales a laugh. "Why am I getting interrogated?"

"You don't have to tell us," Minho says softly. Seunghoon throws a popcorn kernel in the air and catches it in his mouth. Minho watches him lick the salt from his lips, and wants to always be kissing him, which is extremely inconvenient.

"No, I don't mind," Jinwoo says, and he looks amused. "I've been in love a couple of times, I guess," he says. "Hasn't everyone, though?"

"Are we counting celebrity crushes?" Seungyoon asks.

"No," says Minho, at the same time that Seunghoon laughs and says, "You are _not_ segueing into how much you love Adele."

"Then I haven't," Seungyoon says. 

"Huh," Jinwoo says, and turns back to the drama.

Minho is still looking at Seungyoon. For someone who's been in love four times and is just trying to get over the fifth time, this is incomprehensible to him. Seungyooon notices him looking, and gives him a wide, warm smile. "I have my hands too full with you guys, anyway," he says, the smile not leaving his face.

"Old man!" Seunghoon bleats, and throws popcorn at Seungyoon's face.

  


* * *

  


It's a couple of days into January when Minho's phone pings in the middle of dance practice. The tone is a custom one him and Jiho recorded back when they did _Show Me The Money_ together, and it's Jiho yelling his name, drunk and loud. Minho's phone is usually on silent, except this time, because he was showing Seunghoon a cat video on Instagram and had to have the sound on for it. His phone screams, and it throws him off his rhythm, making him step on Jinwoo's foot, who yells and crashes into Seunghoon, who catches himself on Seungyoon's shirt so forcefully he tears the collar off. 

"No phones at dance practice, Song Minho!" Seungyoon yells at him, massaging his neck over the sound of Seunghoon's profuse apologising and Jinwoo's quiet, but colourful swearing. They don't fuck up the steps again.

Once they're done and Minho's grovelled enough to the three of them and promised to buy fried chicken to apologise, he sits on the floor, still sweaty, and checks what Jiho wanted. 

All Jiho writes is _lol?????? ok??_

There's a picture attached. It's an envelope, with Jiho's name and address on it. Minho recognises it as the one he bought at the post office down the street from his parents' house when he was visiting them for Chuseok a few years back. He also recognises it because for the past few years, it had lived at the bottom of a battered old Air Jordans shoe box, tucked away on the top shelf of his closet.

In the picture, the envelope has been torn open. There's a letter peeking out, written on a page from a sketchbook he'd filled a while ago. He can only read the start of the first paragraph. _Jiho,_ it says, _you've gone home already and I'm a BIT DRUNK because we just got into the finals!!!!! so I'm gonna tell you now that I have the courage— I really want,_ and Minho remembers writing it in the booth at the bar they'd gone to, chugging water as he did because he didn't want the others to see him drunk when he came back home. 

His phone vibrates in his hand.

Another text from Jiho. It says, _bro? you wanna talk about this?_

Minho drops the phone like it burned him. He can't breathe, suddenly. He can't be in this huge studio, surrounded by his reflection. 

He runs out and down the corridor, making for the men's bathroom. It's early evening, so the building is packed with people recording, practicing, having meetings. He squeezes past a bunch of nervous looking trainees, who jump away like a spooked flock of birds. He passes Seunghoon and Seungyoon, all showered and clean, waiting for him and Jinwoo.

"Minho-yah?" Seunghoon tries, but Minho shakes his head, runs on. The bathroom feels ten miles away.

He runs past Dong Youngbae, talking with his manager. He doesn't even register that the small crowd he's running past is Big Bang and their entire entourage until he sees Kwon Jiyong leaning against a wall, one foot up, graceful like a wading bird and twice as handsome. 

Their eyes meet for a moment, until Minho's slide down and see the thing Jiyong is holding. 

A letter, addressed to him in Minho's handwriting. 

Jiyong opens his mouth to say something, but Minho is already gone.

The men's bathroom is blissfully empty. Minho locks himself into the stall that's the furthest away from the entrance. He sits on the toilet seat, puts his head between his knees, and breathes. And breathes. And wishes he were dead.

The floor is white tile. There's a hair down there, short and black. Minho thinks about it very, very hard, makes it the most interesting thing in his life in that moment. He breathes very, very carefully, the way he does when he's trying not to have a panic attack.

The bathroom door opens. There's soft footsteps. Minho squeezes his eyes shut, and pulls his feet up onto the toilet seat so that he's not seen.

"Minho-yah?" Jiyong drawls. He sounds concerned. Minho leans his head against the wall, sucking his lips past his teeth, exhaling through his nose.

Jiyong's footsteps get closer. "I saw you run in here." 

Minho hugs his knees, squeezing his legs with his fingers until it hurts. "It's not very polite to hide from your hyung," Jiyong says. He's right outside Minho's stall door. 

There's a soft shuffling sound, and Minho risks opening his eyes to see Jiyong's face look up at him from under the bottom of the stall door.

"Hi," Jiyong says. Minho manages a nod. He's worried he'll scream if he opens his mouth.

Jiyong's hand flourishes a letter in Minho's handwriting, written on stolen hotel stationary. Minho decides he's done with having his eyes open. He can still feel how hot his cheeks are even when his eyes are closed, though, but at least he doesn't have to look at Jiyong's incredibly handsome, surprisingly sympathetic face peeking up at him. Even kneeling down on the bathroom floor, his face a hair's breadth away from the tile, Jiyong looks dignified.

"I just finished reading it," Jiyong says. "I'm very flattered." Minho cracks one eye open at that. Jiyong flashes him a smile. "I'm sorry to disappoint you." He sighs, and gets to his feet. There's a sound like Jiyong is dusting himself off. "Seunghyun and I have been together for over eight years now."

Minho's eyes snap open. He stares, dumbfounded, at Jiyong's shoes. They're Chanel. "I thought everyone who'd been at the company long enough knew, but I guess CEO Yang never fails to surprise me." Jiyong hums. "Don't get discouraged, Minho-yah. You'll find someone, too, when the time is right." His footsteps start moving away. 

"Hyung," Minho says, very quietly, and then louder, "Jiyong hyung?"

Jiyong's footsteps pause. "Yes?"

Minho swallows spit, thinks about his question. 

"Which Seunghyun?"

Jiyong just laughs, and then the door shuts behind him. 

Minho groans into his knees.

  


* * *

  


They get home. Jinwoo goes to take a shower, because he avoids showering at the studio if he can help it these days. Jhonny whines for food and attention. Minho, a ball of anxiety bouncing away through the pinball machine of his body, searches his entire room for the letters. 

He barges into their bathroom as Jinwoo is blow drying his hair. 

"Oh my god," Jinwoo says, his skinny, naked chest heaving with shock. "Don't do that. I could have had a heart attack."

"Hyung," Minho starts, hands shaking as he hangs off the doorknob, "have you seen an old Nike shoebox anywhere? It's— it's black and white, it's an Air Jordans shoebox, kinda banged up around the edges. Have you seen it?"

"I don't think so?" Jinwoo says. "Is it important?"

Minho's heart is beating so fast he thinks it might just jump out of his throat. "It was on the top shelf in my closet, at the back, and now I can't find it."

"Well, we took a bunch of your stuff out for donations that day, maybe we took that, too?" Jinwoo says. Off the look of sheer terror on Minho's face, he says, "Oh no. What was in there?"

"No, it's. It's," Minho stammers, clutching the doorway. "Just." He grips the wood, his vision swimming, his knees jelly. "It's okay, it's probably— somewhere— somewhere else."

"Are you alright?"

There were five letters. Signed, sealed, addressed. Detailed. Heartfelt. In a box, on the top shelf of the closet, where the cats can't get to them. Now there's just an empty space. 

The world spins. Minho's vision goes blurry. 

He faints at the door of his and Jinwoo's bathroom.

  


* * *

  


He can't tell anyone. Usually, he comes to Jihoon with stuff that he's struggling with, but this? He can't tell _anyone._

What would he even say? _Hey, Jihoon, I've been writing letters to people I've crushed on through the years and someone sent all of them, even though nobody else was ever supposed to read them? Oh and by the way, they're all guys I'm good friends with? Except one of them, who is literally G-Dragon?_ Just thinking about it phrased like that makes him start getting an anxiety attack. 

He still vividly remembers every word he wrote in Seunghoon's letter. He lies on his bed, curled around a sleeping Jhonny and the anxiety in his stomach, and thinks about them. Thinks about Seunghoon's face reading them. 

"I've made a huge mistake," he says into Jhonny's fur. She ignores him entirely.

He has to get out of his room eventually. He has a job to do. He can't avoid everyone forever. Him and Jiho were planning a whole surprise thing for Jihoon's birthday, he can't just ignore that. And then he remembers Jiho's text, the picture of the opened letter, and doesn't ever want to leave his bed. He hasn't texted Jiho since then, which was over twenty-four hours ago. They've not gone that long without texting in ages. 

There's a knock on his door. "Minho-yah, the car's here," Jinwoo says from the other side. They're supposed to all go to the studio today to record vocals for the next comeback album. The title track is fun and flirty — Seunghoon's words — and the thing Minho wants to do the least. 

But he has a job. He can't disappoint his members. He kisses the top of Jhonny's sleeping head, and rolls out of bed, anxiety wrapped around him tightly like a shock blanket. "Coming, hyung."

The car ride on the way to the studio is quiet. Seunghoon is asleep. Jinwoo is on his phone, headphones in, covering his mouth with his hand every time he yawns. Seungyoon keeps trying to catch Minho's eye, and Minho keeps looking out the window. He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep.

How do you tell someone you like them to their face, after they've read it in a letter they were never meant to see?

The studio is packed. Minho is going crazy. He can't tell— and then he sees him in the corridor again, just like the other day, and it occurs to him.

He _could_ tell Jiyong. 

Jiyong is recording for his solo album, his last before his enlistment in a few months. It was supposed to come out in the summer, but it's been pushed back. He's thin. He's growing his hair out. Everyone around him looks like a pale shadow in comparison. Minho is not in love with him anymore, hasn't been since he wrote that letter, but there are still some truths universally acknowledged, and one of them is that if a room contains Kwon Jiyong, nobody else in it shines as bright.

There's a camera crew following him today. Minho vaguely recalls Jinwoo, an expert on all things Kwon Jiyong second probably only to his manager, mentioning something about a YouTube documentary. Minho decides now is probably a bad time. Instead, he texts: _hyung, do you want to grab coffee after you're done?_

"You ready to do this?" Jinwoo asks him.

Minho pockets his phone, remembering to put it on silent this time. "Sure," he says. 

"Really?" Jinwoo gives him an intensely scrutinising look. "You fainted yesterday. And you've looked kind of ill since then. Are you sure everything is okay?"

Jinwoo means well, he does, but Minho has no idea where to begin. So he doesn't. "I'll be okay," he says, and hopes that it's true. He can see Seunghoon in his peripheral vision, talking to one of the sound guys. "Let's go."

His pocket vibrates. It's a text from Jiyong. _I can't have coffee,_ he writes. _Diet. But let's meet in the caf anyway._ He sends a smiley face emoji. Minho hopes that's a good sign.

They record the vocals one by one. Minho goes in first, because he just wants to get it over with, and inevitably, he fucks up, badly, several times, because the only thing he can think about is the fact that all the letters are out. He hopes against hope that Taehyun never gets his. He probably won't — it's addressed to their old YG dorms where they lived as trainees, and who knows who lives there now. Some other hopeful kids, most likely, going through the life Winner lived in 2014 and trying to make it.

"Let's just try and do yours later, huh," Seungyoon says from the mixing booth. An expert at keeping the frustration from his voice, although Minho can see it in the way he holds himself. "You wanna take a break and come back when Jinwoo has done his part?"

Minho rolls his shoulders. It doesn't help alleviate the tension he feels all over his body. "Yeah," he says. "Sorry about that. I'm just gonna go get a coffee or something."

Seungyoon nods. "Be back in half an hour, though, okay?"

Minho makes for the cafeteria in a daze, his legs feeling incredibly heavy, wondering why he's doing this. Jiyong is sitting at a table with his manager, his back to the wall. He's drinking something the colour of mustard through a straw, reading through some papers while his manager is on his phone.

Minho approaches, cautiously, and bows to the pair of them. Jiyong sets the papers down. "I'll finish these later," he tells his manager. "Could you tell them I'll be back in twenty? We still need to go over the background effects in the last track." His manager nods, gets up, and with a short bow to Minho, makes himself scarce.

Jiyong indicates the chair he just vacated. Minho sits. The seat is still warm. 

"Aren't you having coffee?" Jiyong asks. He curls his hands around his glass. His fingernails are painted dark purple. The varnish is peeling. 

"Oh, uh, I'm—"

"You need something better, coffee will just make you dehydrated," Jiyong says. He pushes the glass he'd been drinking from towards Minho. "Have this." He takes the straw out. Drops of liquid splatter the table between them. "It's lemon, ginger and turmeric. It's good for you." He takes the wet tip of the straw in his mouth and licks it dry.

Minho takes a sip, because he can't even dream of saying no. It's bitter and spicy, and it could use some honey to make it go down smoother, but he doesn't complain. "Thank you," he says.

Jiyong is wearing a plaid shirt unbuttoned down low over a pair of skinny jeans. He pulls an envelope out of his breast pocket, folded up to fit, and hands it to Minho. "You can have this back," he says. "It seems too personal for me to keep it."

Minho takes it back, sliding it into his trouser pocket. "Thanks, hyung," he says. He takes another sip of the drink. It doesn't taste any better than the first time.

Jiyong leans forward in his seat, his forearms on the table. "I don't have to tell you that this is a tough business," he says. "You have to work like a dog just to stay afloat. People who don't work in the industry think they get it, but there's only so much they can understand without having experienced it." He plays with his straw. "It's fucking lonely as shit," he says, looking at the straw instead of at Minho. "So you reach out for someone who you think gets it, and hope they take your hand." He chews on the end of the straw. 

"That was Seunghyun and me." Jiyong smiles, wide, shining. "I thought we were going to be kicked out of the company when CEO Yang found out. _Jiyong-ah,_ " he says, his voice suddenly incredibly nasal, effortlessly sliding into a Yang Hyunsuk impression, " _I could shut Big Bang down just like that,_ " he clicks his fingers, " _to teach you a lesson, but I won't. You've made your bed. Lie in it. That's your lesson._ " He studies Minho.

Minho tries to decipher the meaning, and gives up after a few confused seconds. "What does that mean?"

Jiyong shrugs. "It's been eight years since that conversation and I still have no idea," he admits, and the fact that even Kwon Jiyong is clueless makes Minho feel a little bit less stupid. "But we're okay." Jiyong smiles, again, fond. "Seunghyun—"

"Minho hyung?"

Jiyong raises his eyebrows and tilts his head in the direction of the voice. Minho turns. It's Bobby, a purple beanie pushed down over his ears, looking tiny in an oversized, fashionably ratty hoodie and baggy jeans ripped at the knees and thighs.

He's holding a piece of paper torn out of a notebook stolen from the third floor stationery cupboard at YG Entertainment over a year ago.

He's holding a piece of Minho's heart.

Minho scrambles out of his chair so fast he spills some of his drink on his hands.

"How many—" Jiyong starts, but Minho is already past him and at Bobby's side.

Bobby looks at him, eyes scrunched up by his confused smile. "Hey, I don't know if this is like, legit, but I'm like, this is a really bad time. It's really weird between me and Bin right now," he chuckles, humourless, looking like he's doing it as a panicked reaction, "I think we might break up, and like. Yeah."

Minho widens his eyes. "No, Bobby," he hurries to say, "it's not like that."

"Good, because," Bobby laughs, embarrassed, "that's a huge compliment and everything, but it's, it's not gonna happen."

Minho waves his hands. "No, that's totally fine, I wrote that like, nearly two years ago now, I don't—"

"Minho-yah?"

Minho looks over Bobby's shoulder, towards the exit to the cafeteria, towards Seunghoon standing in the doorway. He's holding a mint coloured envelope in his hand, like it's a butterfly he might crush to death if he holds it too tight. His mouth is open. His foot is raised, taking a step towards Minho.

Minho can't do this. Not now. Not _ever,_ probably, but absolutely not now.

He panics. He does what, in hindsight, will probably seem an incredibly bad decision.

He grabs Bobby by his huge hoodie, throws an arm around his neck, and pulls him in for a kiss.

The thing is, the cafeteria is crowded. It's nearing lunch time. Behind him, Minho hears Jiyong's shocked intake of breath.

And the thing is, not everyone is cool with the idea of a guy kissing on another guy in public. That's putting it very mildly. Hell, not everyone is keen on public displays of affection more intimate than holding hands. Minho is pretty sure there'll be spit in his food the next time he eats here, _if_ he's lucky. 

But that doesn't matter. At the moment, Minho only cares about Seunghoon not thinking that the letter Minho wrote to him still holds true. He can't do that to the band. He has to do something to stop it, and he panics and does the first, most selfish thing that comes to mind, and he kisses Bobby. 

He grabs Bobby's face and smacks their lips together. Teeth clack. It only lasts a second, and when Bobby pushes him away, he looks furious.

"Didn't you hear anything I _just_ said?" 

Minho looks behind him. Bobby turns as well, just in time to see Seunghoon turn on his heel and march out.

Minho looks back to Bobby, who looks like he's seconds away from punching him. "What the hell," Bobby says. "What was that for?"

Minho is in so much trouble. Jiyong's manager is still there, sitting a couple of tables away. He was drinking coffee. _Was,_ because that coffee is now all over his front and the table in front of him, and the papers he'd previously given to Jiyong. It's still dripping down his chin. He's in the middle of a coughing fit.

There's about thirty people in the cafeteria right now, give or take. It's kind of like a scene from the _Matrix,_ because all of them are frozen like someone's stopped time, except Jiyong's manager. And all of them are staring straight at Minho and Bobby. Minho can detect three distinct emotions prevalent in the room: shock, disgust, and embarrassment.

He is in _so much trouble._

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, feels cold sweat down the back of his shirt. "I won't— I won't do that again."

"Song Minho!"

Bobby turns, and witnesses first hand what it looks like when Kang Seungyoon is angry. It's not a pretty sight. It's one of the two of Seungyoon's moods that genuinely make Minho afraid. (The second one is when Seungyoon is sad. Minho can't stand to see him sad. It hurts his heart more than anything else.) His expression is thunder and lightning, and he looks about a foot taller than he actually is. He looks ready to rain biblical rage. His face is such a picture, and his walk is so determined that Bobby cowers back, which is probably a good thing since Seungyoon _does not stop walking_ until he reaches Minho.

"Song Minho," Seungyoon says, this time quieter, standing straight as a board, his hands at his sides, balled into fists so tight his knuckles are pale. He wouldn't grab Minho and drag him away. Seungyoon isn't like that, he would never touch any of them with violence. Also, he's aware that this is a public place, and _everyone is still watching._ Minho can't guess what he's angry about, but the envelope in Seunghoon's hand and his expression when he walked out both serve as good clues. 

Next to them, Bobby cocks his head, attempting a grin. He opens his mouth to say something, but Seungyoon beats him to it. "Everyone's waiting for you in the studio," Seungyoon says, very deliberately. It's like a cheese grater against Minho's nerves.

Seungyoon turns on his heel, and starts marching out. Minho follows, cowed.

Behind him, he hears Jiyong say, to his manager, "Hyung, don't look so sour. Just expense the dry cleaning."

  


* * *

  


" _Wow, you are in so much trouble,_ " Jihoon says. The picture is blurry and he keeps cutting out. He's in Japan with the rest of Block B for a couple of days, and it's the first time since what Minho's started referring to in his head as The Incident that they're speaking.

Of course he hasn't told Jihoon.

"It's okay," Minho says.

" _How is it okay?_ " Jihoon laughs, incredulous. " _Jinhwan says you made out with Bobby in the YG cafeteria._ "

"You're cutting out," Minho lies. "What was that?"

" _Jinhwan. Says. You kissed Bobby. At YG,_ " Jihoon says, carefully and clearly. He brings the phone close to his face, and Minho can see up his nose. It's not a great sight. He takes a screenshot to blackmail him with later.

"Jinhwan is full of shit," Minho says.

" _What?_ " Jihoon squints at his phone.

"I said," Minho huffs, "the recording went great." Seungyoon was a professional. He'd glowered in silence, and let Minho record his part without any interjections. It had worked, because Minho had wanted to get out of that studio and back home as soon as possible. He'd nailed it in only two takes. 

It's been two days since then. He hasn't seen hide nor hair of Seunghoon.

" _Oh yeah—_ " Jihoon says, and then the picture freezes. Minho sets his phone on the pillow, rolls over so he's lying on his stomach, and waits. The picture unfreezes, to Jihoon saying, " _—ing Hanbin, though?_ "

"What?" 

" _—ay now?_ " Jihoon says. The picture is a couple of seconds behind the audio, and when he finishes speaking, his lips are still moving. " _What did— say?_ "

"This is impossible," Minho says.

" _What?_ "

"I don't know why I thought this was a good idea," Minho says, to himself more than to his bad internet connection. "Let's just meet up when you're back."

" _Yo! Noraebang?_ " Jihoon asks, and he's grinning. " _Me and you and Jiho?_ "

In his letter to Jiho, two years ago, drunk at a bar in Hongdae, Minho had written: _this might be a lot but I like guys and I like you and you're the reason I realised I liked guys. isn't that weird? haha._ It makes him cringe to think back on it now. He wants to bury his head in his pillow and yell until the memory is gone, and he somehow goes back in time to when the letters were still living at the top of his closet.

" _I gotta go, Taeil hyung wants to use the bathroom,_ " Jihoon says. He stands up, and Minho realises he'd been sitting on the toilet in their hotel bathroom. Privacy, apparently, although how he can get any privacy in the most echoey room in existence is beyond Minho. " _Love you, idiot._ "

"Sorry," Minho says, making static noises with his mouth, "you're, _khh,_ breaking up."

" _I can see you doing that!_ "

Minho grins. "Love you," he says, and ends the call on Jihoon sticking his tongue out at him.

He gets a message from him immediately. _NORAEBANG!! MINHO!!_

Jhonny jumps on the bed next to him with a petulant purr. He reaches out a hand, and she bumps her head against it. "Love you, princess," he tells her, for about the tenth time that day. With his free hand, he types, _sure. ask jiho._

Jihoon sends back a _YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_ so aggressive that Minho has to lock his phone and set it down. His stomach very loudly lets him know that he hasn't eaten in far too long. He rolls out of bed, against his better judgement, his mind set on that spicy octopus ramyun he'd bought the other week. 

He's halfway opened the door of his room, one foot in the corridor, when he hears Seunghoon's voice float down from the living room.

"I can't find the other Joy-Con," he says. "Are you sure it's here?"

"Yes," comes Jinwoo's ever patient voice. "Have you checked under all the cushions?"

Minho retreats back into his room, closing the door behind him.

He lands face first on his bed, and drags a pillow over his head. He wasn't that hungry, anyway.

  


* * *

  


Minho doesn't think Jiho will show until the very last second, until the taxi pulls up to the curb and Jihoon steps out, glasses and flatcap and wide grin, and Jiho clambers out right behind him, all his hair tucked under his beanie and everything except his eyes hidden behind a mask. 

The dust is bad today. Everyone around them is wearing masks. Everyone except Jihoon, who's just wearing a smile, and Minho can already predict that he's going to be coughing and complaining in a couple of hours.

They hug. Jihoon squeezes him until Minho groans in protest, and then he spins him around and shoves him right into Jiho's arms. Jiho swears, but he catches him, saving Minho's dignity at the very last second. Usually, he'd do one of their secret handshakes they've had since they were kids, and then pull Minho into a tight hug, just like Jihoon had. But.

But, they haven't spoken in nearly two weeks now, not since Jiho sent him that picture of his letter. Jiho lets him get his balance back, and then he lets go and heads into the noraebang place. Minho's heart sinks. He drags his feet after him.

They get a room. Jiho opens a tab, and they immediately get several bottles of soju on the table. It's almost like when all three of them were younger, except it's not. They used to only be able to pay for coin noraebang, squeezing in one tiny booth and digging into their pockets which were never deep enough. Now, they can afford a room, and to drink as much as they want, and they're free to tell their managers to fuck off for one night, and Jiho seems to always make sure to put Jihoon between himself and Minho.

They're five bottles in when Jiho slips out to piss. Jihoon is sitting on the floor, leaning against Minho's knees. Minho has tunnel vision and hasn't been able to read the words on the screen for two songs now, but it's fine because he knows all the words, anyway. It's fine because this way it's easier to not notice that Jiho always sits on the other end of the couch from him.

"86, man," Jihoon says, frowning at their score. Minho had pushed him into a duet of _Eyes, Nose, Lips,_ and they'd wailed through it, clutching at each other dramatically. "There's something wrong with the alo— alro— machine." Minho hums. Of course there is. He can do the song perfectly, in his sleep. The machine is sabotaging them because it can't handle how good they are. Minho would go and complain to the staff, but he's too comfortable sitting here.

"Taeyang was pretty hot in that MV, wasn't he," Jihoon says.

The question is completely out of the blue. They've never talked about anything like this. "What?"

"It's his voice," Jihoon says. "I really like strong voices like that," he admits to the empty bowl of popcorn, quieter.

"Yah, what," Minho says, more emphatically. Sure, they've talked about girls — mostly about Sandara Park, because, well, it's Jihoon — but never about men. Minho didn't really… talk about that, with anyone. He wrote letters, and that was enough. He had no other choice but to have that be enough.

"Like, bisexuality is a thing, right? You can like both." Jihoon says. He moves so he's looking up at Minho, like he's looking for validation. Minho just stares at him, trying to process this. Seeing him not react, Jihoon gets up from the floor and sits down on the sofa with a sigh.

"What," Minho says, again. Jihoon massages the back of his own neck. "Is this really about Taeyang?"

"Listen, dating inside the band might not be a bad idea," says Jihoon. "I mean, Bobby and Hanbin?"

"What?" Minho plays dumb. It's the safest option.

Jihoon snorts. "Come on, I know they're dating," he says. "Are you serious? Jinhwan told me ages ago."

"Since _when_ do you talk so much with Jinhwan, anyway?" Minho says. He thinks back on what Bobby had tried to tell him that day in the cafeteria, before Minho had kissed him in public to avoid talking to Seunghoon and effectively banned himself from ever eating there again. He'd mentioned it hadn't been going great. "I don't know about Bobby and Hanbin, actually…"

"Oh yeah," Jihoon says, thoughtful, "you did kiss Bobby, I guess…"

"Let's, let's, let's just," Minho says quickly, "circle back to that part when you said that dating inside the band wasn't a bad idea," He gets it out hopefully before Jihoon can get any further into the subject of him and Bobby briefly touching lips as a diversion tactic. "Who are you talking about?"

Jihoon takes a sip of soju, not answering. Minho raises a hand, and starts counting off on his fingers as he goes. "Okay, it's not Jaehyo, because he's not that great at singing." One down. "It's not Yukwon because he's practically married to Sun Hye noona." Two. "It's not Kyung because his voice sounds like a cat dying." Jihoon wheezes a laugh, and Minho grins. Three down. "It's not Minhyuk because h— Oh my god."

He stops counting. He looks at Jihoon. Jihoon looks back at him, eyes wide behind his glasses. "Oh my _god,_ " Minho repeats, grinning wide now. "It's Taeil."

They keep eye contact for a long second. Jihoon sets his soju on the table. And then, he lunges at Minho from across the sofa.

"No, no, no, no," he chants, trying to put both his hands over Minho's mouth to stop the high pitched yelps of delight Minho is making.

"Oh my god, it's Lee Taeil," Minho yells as Jihoon is scrambling to shut him up. "You have a crush on the smallest hyung!" Jihoon keeps shushing him and shaking his head, but Minho has elbows and he's not afraid to use them.

"Oh my god, Jihoon," he squeals, momentarily winded as Jihoon jabs a palm into his stomach, "that's so adorable."

"What's going on?" Jiho calls from the door. He's holding a fresh bowl of popcorn in his hand, and as Minho turns his head to notice that, both of Jihoon's hands manage to connect with his mouth, cutting off both his words, and, momentarily, his airflow. "Our two hours are up in fifteen minutes." Jiho puts the popcorn on the table, at a safe distance from Minho's flailing limbs. "You wanna sing another song, or what?"

Jihoon scrambles off Minho, throwing him a pleading look. Minho rolls his eyes at him. Of course he's not going to tell. He may be an asshole sometimes to Jihoon for fun, but he's not a bad friend. 

He sits upright, acting like the whole altercation between him and Jihoon didn't happen at all. Jiho perches on the opposite end of the sofa, his eyes going between the two of them like he's still trying to figure out what's going on.

Minho grabs the song catalog from the table. He leafs through it, tracing down the list with his finger until he finds what he's looking for. All the letters and numbers are jumping around the page. He thinks he should probably drink some water soon, but he knows he won't. Finally, he finds the song he'd been looking for. "Hyung," he says. He looks up at Jiho, who raises his eyebrows at him. "Do you want to do a duet?"

Jiho tugs his lower lip past his lips, thinking. "Depends," he says.

"Okay," Minho says, taking the remote and punching in the song code. He presses play and watches Jiho's face as the song title comes up on screen and the music starts. He waits as Jiho's expression changes from apprehension to a slightly desperate grin.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Jiho says. He's shaking his head. "No way, Jihoon can take this." 

"It's already started!" Jihoon yells, and he's throwing the microphone over the room. Jiho manages to catch it, but it's a close thing. "Don't let me down, hyung!"

The whole first verse goes by without either of them managing to sing any part of it, because Jiho is still trying to get out of it, and Minho is using all his time on the mic to convince him that he can't sing this alone. By the time the prechorus kicks in, Jiho is reluctantly singing along, focused on the words scrolling on the screen. The song is _Symptoms_ by SHINee. Minho still remembers the first time he'd heard it, and the first time he sang it at noraebang, before he could properly control his voice. He'd sounded like shit, but he'd had the time of his life.

They sing the chorus together, with Jihoon joining in from the sofa, using the bottle of soju as a microphone. Jiho is starting to get more into it. He's doing the hand moves with his free hand, like he's on stage singing to a crowd of lovestruck teens.

The second time the prechorus comes around, Minho grabs Jiho's hand and pulls it to his chest, singing Jonghyun's part right at him, and it takes Jiho by such surprise his concentration completely breaks and he starts laughing right into the mic. Minho squeezes his hand, and Jiho gives him a look from under his fringe that makes Minho's heart jump to his throat, and drop all the way down to the pit of his stomach. He lets go of Jiho's hand then, and turns away to watch the words on the TV, even though he's known them by heart for years now, and he's drunk enough he can barely see them. 

The machine ends up scoring them at 89. While they're all still yelling at the screen about how the whole thing is rigged, the attendant knocks on the door to let them know that their time is up.

Minho realises how drunk he is when he steps out into the relatively brighter light of the corridor. He realises how much more drunker than him Jihoon is when they get into the elevator and Jihoon leans his whole weight on him, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

"Minho-yah," Jihoon says, voice as sweet and as high-pitched as he can get it. Minho has to wince a little because Jihoon says it really close to his ear, and because the elevator is small enough to amplify every sound. "Thank you," Jihoon sing-songs. Minho pats Jihoon's back reassuringly. It's just the three of them in the elevator. Jiho is leaning against the opposite wall, pushing his hair back and trapping it under his beanie. He catches Minho looking at him, and looks away as soon as their eyes meet.

"Jihoonie, I think we should get you home," Jiho says once they're on the pavement. He's already using his phone to order a taxi.

"Noooo," Jihoon protests, still hanging onto Minho. "I'm fine. I'm havin' a great time." He pats Minho's cheek clumsily, almost pulling his mask off. "I love you guys."

"Love you too, dork," Minho says, bumping their heads together gently.

"I'm so glad we did this," Jihoon continues. "We sh— we gotta do this more often, hyung." Jiho hums, not looking up from his phone. "He's ignoring me," Jihoon complains to Minho. "Taeil hyung would never ignore me." He pouts.

"Go to noraebang with Taeil hyung, then," Jiho says. "See how long it takes for him to get fed up of you never paying for anything."

Minho laughs, as Jihoon says, "Hey! I'll pay next time!"

Jiho snorts. "You've been saying that for seven years, maknae."

"He's not wrong, Jihoonie," Minho says, playing along. "What's the point of having a rich dad if we never get to sponge off you?"

"The oldest always pays! You two are so mean," Jihoon whines. "I'm going home." He disentangles himself from Minho, and has to take a couple of seconds to regain his balance. "And I'm tellin' Taeil hyung how mean you are."

"Okay," Minho says, as a taxi pulls up to where they're standing. He puts a hand on Jihoon's lower back and steers him towards the backseat as Jiho opens the door for him. "Remember to drink some Condition in the morning." 

Jihoon squints at him, trying to buckle in and missing the clasp several times. "Who are you, their brand ambassador?"

"Text us when you're home," Jiho says, closing the car door on Jihoon giving them the finger with both hands.

The taxi drives off. Jiho shakes his head. "Works every time."

"You'd think he'd realise by now when we're trying to wind him up so he thinks that going home was his idea," says Minho, grinning. He doubts Jihoon will remember this in the morning.

"I doubt he'll even remember to text, the state he's in," Jiho says, as if continuing Minho's train of thought. He takes out his phone again. "I'll let Taeil hyung know," he says, typing fast. "He'll take care of him." 

"How can you even see what you're typing," Minho says. If he moves his eyes too fast, everything gets a motion blur that makes him dizzy. Jiho, on the other hand, looks fine. He's not even swaying.

"Predictive text is a gift, Minho-yah," Jiho says. "It makes my alcohol tolerance seem much higher than it is." He locks his phone and shoves it into his pocket. "I wanna sober up a little, though," he says. "Do you want to take a walk?"

"Sure," Minho says immediately, and instantly thinks, _too fast._ "Um," he starts, thinking as quickly as the alcohol fog in his brain will allow him. "There's a convenience store within walking distance," he says, bluffing, because there always is. "We could grab some spicy ramyun too, if you want? That's always helped."

Jiho nods. "Alright," he says. "My treat."

They walk in silence. It should be comfortable, because it's always been between them, but this time it's different, at least for Minho. He keeps thinking that he should say something to break the quiet, but everytime he looks at Jiho to try and start a conversation, Jiho is looking down at his feet. 

They walk against the crowd. Everyone is going deeper into the city, towards the clubs, the bars, and noraebang. It's barely past midnight, and Minho doesn't want to go home. He wants to eat the spiciest ramyun they have at the convenience store and sober up just enough that he can keep drinking. Maybe Jiho will want to go to a club later. Maybe Gabbia has something on tonight. Maybe Minho can text Junmyeon and Chanyeol, see if they're up for anything.

He's still thinking about that when they get to the convenience store. Jiho weaves his way past a group of teens buying too much soju and goes straight for the ramyun. Minho follows, pulling his mask higher up his nose and doing his best not to look at anyone. He doesn't want to get recognised when he's this drunk. 

Jiho grabs two cups of ramyun, tossing one to him. Minho means to catch it, but he misses entirely, and it falls to the floor at his feet. He can hear the teens giggling behind him as he bends to pick it up, and he hopes they're not laughing at him.

The ramyun is spicy octopus, the same flavour he's had in his cupboard and meant to try for weeks. His heart beats just a little happier. Jiho knows him. 

They get the chopsticks and napkins, and Jiho pays. Minho makes the ramyun for the both of them, trying not to take too much time at the hot water dispenser, trying not to attract any attention. They eat sitting at one of the plastic tables outside of the convenience store, backs facing the entrance, far enough from any lights so that their faces are in shadow and they can safely pull their masks down. The teens, arms laden with bags clinking with soju, walk past them without even giving them a second look. Minho slurps his noodles, and the spice sets his mouth on fire. Jiho drinks the broth at the bottom of the cup, leaning his head back to get at all of it. Minho watches his Adam's apple move as he swallows, and then looks away.

Jiho is the first to break the silence. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and he pulls his mask back on, and he says, "About that letter you sent me."

Minho bites on his lip behind his mask, and nods wordlessly. He watches Jiho look left and right. Their part of the street is empty, for now. The only people nearby seem to be some students in the convenience store, buying late-night snacks. There's music playing inside, a power ballad from a drama soundtrack Minho vaguely recognises.

When he makes sure nobody can overhear them, Jiho says, "Is it true?" Minho wants to immediately ask, _which part,_ but Jiho goes on. "You— you wrote that you liked guys." Minho nods again. "Oh," Jiho says. "Okay," he says. Minho looks over to him. Jiho takes a breath so deep Minho thinks the front of his mask is going to dip in where his mouth is, but it doesn't. 

"That letter is two years old, hyung," Minho says. He's digging his fingers into his chair. The plastic is cold. "I don't know if that helps."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Jiho asks, and he's looking at Minho now, his eyes no longer darting around to make sure nobody is eavesdropping. "I could have… I dunno, fuck, we could have talked about it before."

Minho's shoulders droop. "You were never supposed to know," he says. "I'm sorry."

"Minho-yah," Jiho says pointedly. He leans until he's in Minho's personal space. Minho leans back, just a little, because they're in public. "I love you. Okay? I hope you know that." His eyes above his mask are warm and sincere. Maybe they're a little sad, too, or maybe Minho is projecting. Maybe, definitely, they're both still too drunk. "But I can't love you like that," Jiho says, his voice dropping until it's very quiet. "I'm not gay. You know that."

"Bisexuality is a thing," Minho says, feeling like he's having an out-of-body experience.

"What?"

Minho shakes his head. "I'm not in love with you anymore, hyung," he says. "I had to get over you, so I wrote that letter. And I got over you." He sees Jiho visibly relax. Minho chuckles, a little self-deprecating. "I still love you more than I love almost anyone else, but I no longer want to—"

"— _kiss you stupid on stage just to see the look on Verbal's face?_ " Jiho says. His eyes are upturned at the corners — he's grinning under his mask.

Minho groans. "Please don't quote it." 

"Sorry," Jiho says, still grinning. He opens his arms. "Can I hug you?"

"I'm—" Minho tries, but Jiho is already pulling him into a hug. He smells like kimchi ramyun and expensive cologne, and he's warm, and Minho lets himself be held and squeezed tight.

"Thanks for trusting me with this," Jiho says into his shoulder, his voice wavering only a little. When they separate, Jiho's eyes go wide, and he says, "Fuck, are you— do you want a tissue?"

Minho sniffles, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm. He tries to calm his breathing, gulping down his tears. "It's fine," he says wetly. "I didn't— sorry, I didn't expect this." He drags his snot back into his nose. "Sorry," he says again. "I didn't send those letters. It wasn't me."

Jiho blinks at him. "There was more than one letter?"

In a very small voice, Minho says, "There were five."

Jiho looks at him, unmoving, for a few long, quiet seconds. Still looking at Minho, he takes his phone out of his pocket. "Okay," he says. He unlocks his phone. "You're coming to my place for coffee. We should talk about this."

  


* * *

  


Minho wakes up to the smell of frying eggs and his phone pinging. He's in a bed that doesn't smell like his own. It smells like sandalwood and pepper, and a little bit like sweat. He rolls over as his phone pings again, and as the whole room tilts sideways, he realises two things. One, he's in Jiho's apartment, in Jiho's bed. Two, he's still drunk. And then he realises a third thing, which is: he's only in his underwear.

His phone pings again, and he unlocks it, staring blearily at the screen. There's a few texts from Jihoon, from last night. The first one says: _madde it hm._ The second one is a sticker of a happy bowl of bibimbap dancing, which was probably a misfire. The third one says, _good ngith mijnhooooooooo._ Minho's phone pings _again_ as he's reading them, and he jumps to the Winner group chat. He has 50 missed messages. He scrolls up and up, not reading anything until he gets to the beginning of the unread messages. 

Earlier this morning, Seungyoon had written, _Bobby and Hanbin broke up. We're not supposed to know, but please be nice to them._

Under that, Seunghoon's reply says, _they were together? whoa,_ and in the same minute, Jinwoo had written, _Are you serious? Fuck._ It goes on for another 40 or so messages, with Seungyoon trying to explain how important it is that they're both supportive and absolutely clueless about the whole thing at the same time, Seunghoon wondering how he didn't know they were even dating, and Jinwoo popping in every once in a while to send sad or frowning emojis and laugh at Seunghoon's cluelessness. Until, less than half a dozen messages from the bottom, Minho sees that Seunghoon had asked, _hey, dyou think this is bc of minho,_ and Jinwoo had written, _If it was, that's between the three of them, and not for you to gossip about._ And that's the last message, from five minutes ago.

Minho closes the chat and locks his phone. He takes the morning one disaster at a time.

He sits up in bed and waits a little bit until the room stops swaying. One of his feet is on a towel, and the other is on what feels like a t-shirt. At least he can take comfort in one constant, and that's the fact that Woo Jiho is probably the second untidiest person he knows, after Kim Jiwon. And then he makes the executive decision not to think about Bobby yet.

The smell of eggs gets stronger as Minho is thinking about what his next course of action should be. A soft weight lands on the bed next to him, and he looks at it to find a bottle of blue Gatorade lying on the duvet. 

"G'morning," Jiho says from the doorway. He's carrying a pan of scrambled eggs. His hair is wet, and his mouth is full of eggs as he says, "Drink that. I got some Condition in the fridge too, if you need it."

Minho drinks half the bottle of Gatorade before he feels human enough to say, "Thanks. Where are my clothes?"

Jiho shrugs. "Can't remember. Around? Probably. You took them off before passing out last night." He grabs some more eggs with his chopsticks. "If you can't find them, just wear something of mine. It's cool."

Minho picks a purple Supreme shirt up from the floor. It's not his. He gives it a sniff. It smells fine. He pulls it on and stands up, stepping over clothes and to the door. He uses his fingers to pick some eggs out of the pan and pop them in his mouth. They're scrambled with kimchi, and Minho knows Jiho has never made a good pan of eggs in his life, so this has no business tasting as good as it does. Maybe it's because he's still drunk. He hopes the Gatorade starts working its magic soon.

"Stop," Jiho says, moving the pan out of Minho's reach. "Let's go to the kitchen, there's coffee there."

"Fuck," Minho says earnestly. "Thank you. So much."

When he gets to the kitchen, Park Kyung is sitting at the table, typing on his phone. "Hey, Minho-yah," he says, not looking up. There's a pot of coffee on the table and a mug in front of him. It says _My Dongsaeng Went To Lotte World And All I Got Was This Mug,_ and it's chipped. If Kyung is here, that explains the eggs. Minho has never seen Jiho make anything in a pan without burning it.

Minho sits down heavily opposite him, chugging the rest of his Gatorade. "Good morning, hyung," he says. "I didn't know you lived here."

Kyung snorts. "I don't. I just come and help out occasionally to make sure our Jiho doesn't forget to feed himself or drown in his own garbage," he says. He sets his phone down and looks Minho up and down. "You feeling okay?"

"I've felt worse," Minho says, smiling. 

Jiho sets the eggs in front of him. "Eat," he says, and Minho doesn't need telling twice. He takes the pair of chopsticks Jiho hands him and starts shovelling the eggs into his mouth. "Also, Kyung's full of shit. I can take care of myself." He gives Kyung the finger, and Kyung smiles sweetly at him.

"Did you hear the news?" Kyung asks, glancing briefly down at his phone when it lights up with a notification. "Bobby and B.I aren't together anymore." Minho chews on a piece of kimchi, looking at the table. "I wonder how that'll affect iKON." There's a big cigarette burn in the middle of the table that he doesn't remember from last time, and Minho knows Jiho doesn't smoke.

"I didn't know they were a thing," Jiho says, pouring himself and Minho coffee. Minho's mug has the Easter bunny on it. He looks at that instead of the table. 

Kyung says, "Really? You could see it from space, man." The bunny has a straw in its mouth and it's drinking some kind of ice cream sundae. "I guess you and Bobby aren't that close. Kid's about as gay as you can be without your name being Kim Heechul," Kyung says, pausing to take a sip of coffee. "I don't know how YG—"

"Well," Minho says to his eggs, very loudly, "I gotta go get dressed and bounce." He looks up at them. Kyung has his eyebrows raised, and Jiho is leaning against the kitchen counter holding his coffee mug and looking uncomfortable. "I have schedule," Minho lies, and he's already getting up from the table.

He escapes back to Jiho's room, but not before he hears Kyung say, "What's up with him?"

It shouldn't get to him, he thinks angrily as he goes through all the clothes strewn on every surface in Jiho's room. It shouldn't. He should know better than to get upset at stupid, offhand remarks like that, he thinks as he kneels down on the floor and goes through the clothes there, trying to find his trousers. He knows Kyung doesn't mean anything bad by it. He picks up a pair of jeans, and when he realises they're once again Jiho's and not his, he throws them aside, maybe using more force than he should. Kyung just doesn't know, and that's fine, because he _shouldn't_ know. Too many people knew about Bobby and Hanbin, and that hasn't done them any favours. Minho doesn't want to be the subject of gossip in someone's kitchen. He doesn't want his private stuff to be dragged out like that just for fun or a cheap laugh. 

There's a knock at the door frame. Minho looks up, holding a shirt that isn't his, at Jiho standing uncertainly in the doorway. "It's your room," Minho snaps. "You can come in."

Jiho does, and he closes the door behind him. "If it's because of what Kyung said, you know he's not like that," he says. "We have gay friends."

"Wow," Minho says. "Okay." He pulls off the shirt he's wearing, having finally found his from last night under a very crumpled looking polo. "Sure," he says, dragging his shirt over his head.

"I'm not going to _tell_ anyone, Minho-yah," Jiho says, as Minho begins the quest for his trousers again.

"Okay, well, I don't think you have to," Minho says, digging through a pile of clothes thrown over a chair, "because I kissed Bobby in the YG cafeteria in front of almost everyone in the company." He picks up a Supreme hoodie, chucks it on Jiho's bed. "And apparently Park Kyung's tongue waggles faster than the speed of light, so I'm sure _everyone_ will know in no time," he says viciously, throwing another, different Supreme hoodie on Jiho's bed.

"You kissed—" Jiho starts, and then switches gears. "Kyung wouldn't," he says, like the very idea is insulting. "Minho-yah. We don't go around babbling about that stuff," he says. "Kyung says insensitive, dumb shit sometimes, but he's not a moron. He knows when to keep his mouth shut." Minho ignores him, rifling through Jiho's clothes. He doesn't understand how one pair of black trousers can be so hard to find in a room that's not even that big.

Jiho takes a step closer, and tugs the green cardigan Minho is holding out of his hands. "Minho, listen to me," he says, trying to meet his eyes. Minho glares at him. "We look out for each other, okay?" Jiho says. "That's not going to change just because you're gay." He lowers his voice towards the end of the sentence, like he's worried someone might overhear, or like he's ashamed of saying it.

"I'm bisexual," Minho snaps, and he sees them — his trousers are hanging off the door. He sidesteps Jiho and pulls them down. "And good," he says, stepping into them. "That'd be a shitty thing to do." He tries very hard to concentrate on squeezing into his trousers instead of thinking about how that's the first time he's admitted to his sexuality outloud. He used to think it would happen in Woo Jiho's bedroom, but this particular scenario was never a part of his fantasies. 

"Do you want your letter back?" Jiho asks, and it's probably the way he says it, cautious and hesitant, or the situation he says it in, that makes it hurt. Quick and sharp like a paper cut.

"Keep it," Minho says, zipping up his trousers and pulling them up to adjust the fit. He can't remember if he'd told Jiho about Seunghoon last night or not. He can't remember much of what happened after they got to Jiho's apartment, just a feeling of simultaneous dread and comfort. He doesn't feel either of those things now. He just feels tired, and a little bit angry. "I have to go," he says again, tucking the front of his shirt into his trousers. 

"Do you want me to drive you home?" Jiho asks. Minho is already putting his headphones in, picking out the most aggressive song he can find.

"It's fine, I'm calling a taxi," he says, turning around before Jiho can say anything else.

He sits in the taxi on the way home, and stews. The Winner group chat is quiet. He scrolls through Instagram, looking at pictures of cats. There's an update on Junmyeon's private account, a selfie of him under the blue and pink lights in some club from last night. It makes Minho wish they'd gone out dancing and drinking some more instead of going to Jiho's apartment.

Like he'd summoned him, his phone pings with a message from Jiho. He writes, _about last night._ Minho stares at his phone, watching a looping video of a kitten playing as another message comes through. _you know I won't tell anyone how you feel about hoon, minho-yah._ Minho's stomach drops. Okay, so he did tell Jiho. He needs to drink less. He can't tell anyone else.

He opens Kakao, and types, _okay. thanks._ He thinks about it, and then writes, _sorry. I know you're trying. I appreciate it._ He considers his message for a couple of seconds, and then hits send.

Jiho sends him a single blue heart emoji back, and then writes _good luck._

Minho locks his phone and stares out the taxi window for the rest of the ride home, and lets the music wash over him.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time he sees Bobby, it's in the cafeteria again. This time Bobby is sitting by himself, his tray of food the only thing keeping him company. He has a snapback on, and the hood of his hoodie pulled over that, and he's hunched over his bowl of rice like he wants to dive into it.

It's a big table, and Bobby is sitting at it all alone. The cafeteria isn't empty enough to justify that. People are squeezing uncomfortably close to each other at nearby tables in order not to sit next to him, and when Minho takes a better look, he notices them sneaking glances at Bobby every once in a while. 

There are a lot of secrets and unspoken things at YG.

Minho gets his tomato soup and his rice cakes, and takes his tray to Bobby's table. He sets it down opposite him, and when he sits down he takes his earphones out and gives Bobby his most optimistic smile. Bobby looks up from his food, but he doesn't return the smile.

Minho bows his head, and stirs his soup. Bobby continues eating like someone will come and steal his food away. It's doenjang jjigae, and it smells really, really good. Minho is on a diet, and his food doesn't smell like anything.

"Sorry," Minho says, to his spoon.

"Uh, for what?" Bobby asks. He takes a big scoop of rice and dips it in the jjigae, chasing a piece of zucchini around the bowl.

"For kissing you in front of everyone," Minho says. He tries to meet his eyes, but Bobby is looking at the table. "I didn't think it would go so badly."

"Not everything is about you," Bobby says measuredly. He blows on his spoonful of food. "Okay?" He looks at Minho, briefly, and eats the soup.

Minho nods, not touching his food. "Yeah, you're right." He feels stupid apologising again, so pushes it back down, cutting the words to pieces with his clenched teeth and swallowing them. Instead, he says, "How come you're eating by yourself?"

Bobby shrugs. He does it in the stiff way of everyone who's ever tried to pretend to be casual. "Everyone's gone to get burgers," he says. "I saw this was on the menu today and I wanted to have it." He points to the food with his spoon. "It reminds me of my aunt's cooking." Minho doesn't blame him. Burgers are good, but doenjang jjigae tastes like home. "Plus," Bobby says, scooping up some more rice, "Hanbin and me broke up." He picks up some kimchi with his chopsticks, and then some bean sprouts, puts it all on the rice, and into his mouth. "So," he says, through a mouthful of food, and chews. 

"Are you… okay?" Minho asks. He feels embarrassed even asking. Bobby can't possibly be okay. Minho still remembers Bobby's face in the car on the way to the airport, over a year ago. How Bobby had run his hand through his hair and smiled, lopsided and elated, and told Minho in an excited whisper that he and Hanbin had _kissed_ and that they were _together._ He looked like all his dreams had come true in that moment, and Minho didn't understand how he could simultaneously feel so, so happy for Bobby and so heartbroken for himself at the same time.

Bobby upends the leftover rice into the last couple of spoonfuls of jjigae, and stirs. He laughs, and he shakes his head. "He said we'd work better as friends," he says. "He said it complicated things too much. That he had enough shit to deal with as it was." His voice breaks a little on the end of the sentence, and he quickly masks it by having some more food.

_Jiwon-ah,_ Minho had written sixteen months ago, balancing the notebook on his knees in a waiting room, stuck in limbo between makeup and wardrobe and the performance beginning, _I keep thinking about the future. It's scary, right? I feel braver knowing that you'll be there, though, no matter what._ He remembers stopping there and having to stash the notebook in his bag, because their manager had told them it was time to go on stage.

"He's not even sad about it," Bobby says, to his tray. "He's just. Carrying on like we were never even together."

_You're someone I could grow old with, if I could,_ Minho had written, later, when he had a moment to himself again. It was in a stall in the men's bathroom. He'd put the toilet lid down and sat on it, and raised his feet against the stall door so he could finish what he'd wanted to say before he forgot. _Maybe, when we both get out of the army, and we don't have anyone even after such a long time — would you consider it?_

"I'm sorry," Minho says, because there's nothing else to say. 

"I just," Bobby says, and sighs heavily. "Everyone knows, by now. I don't get why he's pretending, since it doesn't even matter anymore." He stares at the last couple of grains of rice in the bowl. "We've got meetings with our manager about it tomorrow. Hanbin, and then me, and then the both of us together." Bobby shudders. "We've never talked about it with him like that."

_It'll be 2025 when we get discharged, I think,_ Minho had written. _Maybe by then, we could do it. And nobody would mind. A lot of things can change in ten years. I think Korea can change, for the better. I'd like to try, with you. We can have each other. What do you say?_

Bobby starts cleaning up, getting ready to leave. "Thanks for sitting with me. I—"

"Bobby! There you are!"

Bobby's grin is equal parts surprise and defence mechanism as Kang Daesung slides down in the chair next to him and claps him on the shoulder. Daesung is loud, he's grinning from ear to ear, and he has the attention of everyone in the cafeteria.

"H-hi, hyung," Bobby says, weakly, as Daesung pats his back. 

"Hyung," Minho says, eyes wide, "I thought you were in Osaka?"

"Oh, no," Daesung says, laughing, "Jiyong wanted a band meeting. And then on Friday we're going to Jeju-do for a party weekend, so I'm here." He reaches across the table and takes one of Minho's untouched rice cakes. "Why are you guys sitting alone?" he asks, snapping the rice cake in half with his fingers. "Where's the rest of the kids?"

Minho stares at Bobby. Bobby stares right back. Daesung crunches half a rice cake in his mouth. "What?" he says. "Is this because…" He swallows his food, and slides closer to Bobby, putting his elbows on the table. Minho leans in closer to hear as Daesung says, "... of the thing?" He makes a swirling motion with his forefinger between Bobby and Minho.

Minho feels incredibly uncomfortable. He wants to busy himself with eating his soup just so he doesn't have to look at Daesung looking at him, but cold tomato soup just tastes like salsa dip, and as such it's a painful reminder of all the tortilla chips he could be dipping into it, but can't because of his diet, and because it's just unseasoned tomato soup, which will never, by any stretch of the imagination, be as good as salsa dip. 

"Listen," Daesung says, voice still quiet, "you should've been there when it came out that Jiyong and Seunghyun were together." Bobby buries both his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. He's still looking at Minho. He looks like he's trying to figure something out. "You know I had a fight with Gong Hyuk over it?" Daesung says. "He insulted Seunghyun in front of our whole dance crew and the choreographer hyung. Called him something really nasty." He takes another bite of the rice cake. "We had to stop dance practice for the day because I punched him so hard I broke his orbital bone." He's grinning as he says it.

"Who's Gong Hyuk?" Minho asks.

Daesung laughs. "Right?" He nudges Bobby with his elbow, poking his forearm. "What I'm saying is, Bobby, don't worry. We have your back."

Bobby bows his head until Minho can't see his face because the brim of his hat is in the way. "Thanks, hyung," he says, quietly. "I can take care of myself, though."

"I know you can, kid," Daesung says. "I'm just saying, you're not alone in this. Right, Minho-yah?"

Minho blinks rapidly, and nods. "Of course, hyung." He looks to Bobby. "Really."

Bobby gets up from the table, suddenly, and lifts up his tray with a rattle of dishes. "Thanks," he says again. He bows to Daesung. "Have fun on Jeju-do, hyung." He leaves without looking at Minho again, without even raising his eyes from the floor.

Daesung sighs, and goes to dip the remaining half of his rice cracker into Minho's soup. "He'll be okay," he says. "Breakups are tough." He licks the soup off the cracker, and makes a face. "Is this even seasoned?"

"I'm on a diet," Minho explains. "We have a photoshoot in a couple of days, and I need to lose the weight."

"Ridiculous," Daesung says. "Don't they know Photoshop exists? Hasn't anyone told them?"

"Hyung, I'm sorry, but," Minho starts, not feeling particularly brave but going for it anyway, "why did you come sit with us, if you knew the reason we were sitting alone?"

Daesung looks at him. He continues looking at him, quietly and patiently, until Minho gets embarrassed and breaks eye contact. "Sorry," he mumbles. 

"Just because what you did was incredibly, hilariously stupid," Daesung says, and then laughs at himself. "No, actually, that's all I was gonna say." He leans across the table to pat Minho's forearm. "Take care of yourself. And keep an eye on Bobby." Getting up from the table, he winks. Minho has no idea how to interpret that.

"Oh, one more thing," Daesung says, just as he's about to walk away. "Seunghyun was looking for you. I think he wants to feature you on a solo track he's working on."

"Which Seunghyun?" Minho calls after his retreating back, but Daesung just gives him a casual wave without even turning around.

  


* * *

  


"Can you move a little to the left, Mino-ssi? Closer. Thank you."

Minho can tell that the photographer is getting agitated. They've been at this for an hour now, and she's not been able to get the shot she wants because him and Seunghoon won't stand the way she would like them too. She keeps calling it too stiff and unnatural, and Minho wishes there was something either of them could do to make her happy. Except lie draped over each other on the four poster bed in the luxury hotel room that's the location of the shoot for the day, like she wants.

He's starting to sweat under the lights. The shoot is for a brand Winner are officially endorsing, and sure Minho likes the new collection, but the clothes they have him in are too tight, and the fabric itches in places it shouldn't, and pulls at his skin in wrong directions. He exhales forcefully through his nose.

"Don't do that," Seunghoon says. His neck is right against Minho's nose, because that's the concept of the shoot, something none of them knew before they actually arrived on set.

"Sorry," Minho says. He holds his breath.

Seunghoon breathes out through his teeth. "Now you're holding your breath," he says. "Stop that."

"Could I have silence?" The photographer lowers her camera from her face and frowns at them. "The photos aren't going to look good if you keep moving your mouths like that. I don't want to waste too much time fixing them in post, with all the work I already have to do."

"You could not photograph our faces and that would solve your problems," Seunghoon deadpans, and Minho exhales a laugh against his skin. He feels Seunghoon stiffen even more at that. They're supposed to be holding hands, but their palms are barely touching. Minho can feel his own starting to sweat. 

The photographer presses her lips together in a thin, straight line, and brings the camera back to her face. They manage to hold the pose for another excruciatingly uncomfortable five minutes, before she takes pity on them and lets them go. As soon as she says they're done, Seunghoon lets go of Minho and practically bounces off the bed with how fast he's up. 

The room is tiny and filled with gilded details, plaster casts of naked baby angels and photography equipment. Jinwoo is huddled in an enormous white leather armchair, his legs tucked to his chest, scrolling through his phone. Seungyoon is standing behind one of the light diffusers, an elbow awkwardly perched on the mantelpiece. Yoo Si Mon, their manager, is by the door, typing something on his phone with both hands, probably answering emails.

If he had to describe the aesthetic of the room in three words, Minho thinks he'd use _50 Cent video_. He doesn't understand why they went with that concept, and looking at the way the expression on Yoo Si Mon's face changes once he looks up from his phone and takes in the scene again, neither does their manager anymore.

Minho sits on the floor next to Jinwoo's armchair, and leans his head against one of the overlarge armrests. "Tired?" Jinwoo asks. Minho hums, closing his eyes so he doesn't have to look at Seunghoon staring at him. "I don't think manager Yoo is going to like any of the photos," Jinwoo says quietly. "Maybe the solo ones."

"This doesn't feel like us," Minho agrees, just as quiet.

"Is there something wrong between you and Hoon?" Jinwoo asks. "You've been avoiding him for weeks."

Minho very deliberately tries to not move by moving in small, natural gestures, the way people do when they're trying to show how totally in control of the situation and not at all losing the plot they are. He breathes with his chest moving up and down. He moves his bare toes on the soft carpet. He licks the lipgloss from his lips, because he likes the cherry flavour. 

"What would be wrong?" Minho says. "Just because we don't talk every day, doesn't mean there's something wrong."

"Alright," Jinwoo says placatingly. "We don't have to talk about it." 

Jinwoo ends up being right — manager Yoo hates all the photos, except the solo ones. They change back into their street clothes while he talks it out with the photographer, and then they wait in the hotel lobby while he talks to her some more, behind closed doors and with the volume slightly raised.

The lobby is empty, because it's two in the morning. Sometimes their schedules are like that, and they do the best with what they have. Jinwoo has his arm pillowed under his head, and he's already dozing off on a circular sofa. Next to him, Seungyoon has his headphones in and his eyes closed. He'd said he was going to catch up on a podcast, but Minho has known him for too long to be fooled. His mouth is gaping slightly open, and his hands are clasped in his lap. He's been asleep for the past ten minutes.

Minho takes his phone out and picks the bunny ear filter, the one that also puts a cute little orange carrot in the mouths of everyone in the frame, and snaps a couple of pictures of the both of them, separate and together.

He's about to lock his phone and put it away when he gets a text message from Bobby.

_We talked w our manager hyung. he talked to ceo yang,_ Bobby writes. _Not getting kicked out of yg!_ He sends three wave emojis.

Minho feels a huge weight lift from his chest. _knew it,_ he sends back.

_Ive decided Im not mad about the kiss anymore,_ Bobby writes. _At least were in this together rite?_ Minho is trying to find the thinking emoji on his keyboard, but he's so tired that all the yellow emojis look the same, and Bobby's next message arrives faster than he can reply. 

_But what if we were in it 2gether together tho?_

"What," Minho whispers at his phone, and then types: _????_

_Everyone knows u like boys now rite,_ Bobby says. _And bin knows u kissed me._ Minho blinks at his phone, scrolling up to read Bobby's messages again. He doesn't understand what's happening. His phone pings again, and he quickly scrolls back down to the bottom of their chat, where Bobby has written: _We can pretend to be boyfriends so that bin gets jealous and wants me back and you can stop trying to avoid hoony hyung and whatever stuff is going on between you two._ Then he sends two wave emojis and a weightlifter emoji.

_how do you know about that?!_ Minho types.

Bobby just says, _Lol. srs?_ When Minho doesn't reply immediately, Bobby writes, _Chanwoo says jinhwan says lisa says chaeyoung saw yall avoid getting into the same elevator on the way to a meeting the other day lmao._

Minho closes his eyes and presses the top edge of his phone against his temple, very hard, until that begins to hurt more than the pressure between his eyes. YG is a _village._

"Minho-yah." He looks up. Seunghoon sits on the sofa next to him. He turns to face Minho, pulling one leg up onto the cushions and tucking it in front of himself. He holds onto his ankle like it's keeping him grounded and upright. Minho wants to bolt, but Seunghoon looks pale with lack of sleep, and determined, and the sickly yellow lights of the hotel lobby fall on the lines of his face in a way that makes him look almost unforgivably handsome, so of course Minho can't move from his spot.

He lowers his hands down into his lap, and turns his phone face down, balancing it on his knees. And so they're here. And so it's, apparently, now. 

Seunghoon looks at his own lap. "I read it a couple of times, the letter," he says to his shoe. And then he looks up, because Seunghoon doesn't avoid eye contact for too long. "I want to talk about it."

Minho nods, and smiles weakly. He wonders if this is what it's like when you're just about to have a heart attack. He feels like his body ends somewhere around his belly button, and that there's just void from there on down. 

"Sorry for avoiding you for weeks," he tells Seunghoon. And he means it. Finally having this conversation is excruciating, but it's at least better than every single one of his nerves feeling like they're being discreetly sawed into pieces with red hot iron every time he's about to enter a room, because there's always the risk it might contain Lee Seunghoon and no other visible exits.

"I mean, really," Seunghoon says, "you should be." He frowns, and Minho is infinitely jealous, and infinitely in love with how handsome even that looks. He wills himself to not notice it. "I don't get why you'd expect me to be okay with it." Seunghoon rolls his eyes. "Is this like, funny to you? Is the band a joke to you?"

"Of course not," Minho says. His heart is a block of ice, freezing him from the inside out.

"Then why would you ever write those things?" Seunghoon is looking at him, his eyes narrow. He's picking at the hem of his trousers, pulling at a thread and making it loose.

_Because I'm in love with you,_ Minho had written. _It's ridiculous how much. You've seen me at my worst, and I don't even care. I want you to see me at my best. I'm not there yet. But I know that I could get there with you. I want to get there, with you._

"I needed to get it out somewhere," Minho says, and it's the truth.

Seunghoon stares at him. "That's selfish," he says, and that's the truth, too. "Like, first of all, we're in a band together. This isn't ABBA. It's not the sixties."

"Seventies," Minho says automatically.

"Whatever." Seunghoon glares at him. Minho blinks, but when he opens his eyes again, Seunghoon is still glaring. He's not imagining it. "You can't be gay and an idol. Are you actually serious? There's no way." Seunghoon pulls out the thread he was picking at, and starts wrapping it and unwrapping it around his finger. His voice is level and quiet as he talks, and he keeps looking at Minho's face, like he wants to make sure his words are reaching him. "If you involve me, you've ruined both our careers." He glances towards Jinwoo and Seungyoon, asleep. " _All_ of our careers." He looks back towards Minho, and there's something in his eyes Minho doesn't like. There's nothing kind or understanding in there, not now. "Winner's done. We've blown our second chance."

"CEO Yang lets Jiyong hyung do it," Minho says. "And I'm bisexual," he adds. He has to, because if he can't say it in front of Seunghoon, there's no point to any of this. But all saying it does is make him feel like there's a cactus growing in his stomach, spikes buried in his guts.

Seunghoon pulls his lips from his teeth in a sneer. "G-Dragon is one of the top five reasons why this company is doing well," he says. "You know what the other four reasons are?" He narrows his eyes. "The rest of Big Bang." And there's another truth. He's on a roll tonight, Minho thinks sadly to himself. 

Seunghoon sighs, and shrugs. "Minho-yah, I'm sorry," he says, and it sounds like Minho's heart breaking. "You have to forget about this."

"I have," Minho lies, forceful enough that he can't hear his telltale heart, that he can't feel the pain in his stomach. "I'm dating Bobby," he says. It's better than just rolling over and letting Seunghoon think he's won.

"You are not dating Kim Jiwon," Seunghoon says immediately, derisively.

Minho sits up straighter. "I am."

Seunghoon squares his shoulders. "Prove it."

Minho laughs, but there's no humour behind it. "You think I just have sexy texts from my boyfriend on my phone where anyone could read them? Give me some credit, hyung," he says. It shouldn't be this easy to lie to Seunghoon, but it is.

Seunghoon looks at him for a long moment. Minho stares back, trying not to blink, trying not to think about how this is the first conversation they've had in weeks, and it's been a fight from the first sentence. 

And then Seunghoon says, "Okay." He straightens his leg, and puts both feet on the floor. "Whatever," he snaps, the way he does when he's trying to convince everyone he's talking to that he couldn't care less. Minho wonders why he'd think that would work on him. "Bobby is at least good at keeping himself in check." He looks sidelong at Minho. "If he ruins this for you — for us — I'm not afraid to fuck him up. I'm taller and faster."

He pushes himself up to his feet, and crosses the carpet to where Seungyoon is sleeping. He lifts up one of Seungyoon's headphones. He bends down low next to his ear, and says, in his sweetest voice, "Leader-nim."

Seungyoon wakes up, blinking rapidly. "I wasn't asleep," he says. Seunghoon laughs to himself, and then goes to wake up Jinwoo.

Minho takes his phone and, a hole in his chest, texts Bobby, _ok. you're on._

Bobby sends him twenty wave emojis.

  


* * *

  


When he's had a moment to think about it and one night to spend wide awake, panicking, and when he manages to meet Bobby alone, without any of their respective band members hanging around, Minho says, "Maybe we shouldn't do this."

"You owe me," Bobby says. He has the hood of his hoodie pulled up again, and he's wearing glasses. They do a little bit to hide the bags under his eyes. iKON are working on their next comeback, and they haven't left the YG building for what seems to Minho like days. Whenever he comes in, they're always there. Hanbin is at the recording studio, Donghyuk and Junhoe are working on the choreography, and the rest of them are going between one and the other, always looking like they're late, always looking like they're minutes away from waking up or falling asleep.

Minho laughs. "So you're blackmailing me?"

Bobby squints at him. "No," he says, barely deigning to give the word any intonation, because he apparently thinks that little of Minho's accusation. "Do you know what that kiss looked like? It wasn't like when we play games for the cameras." 

They're up on one of the balconies where people usually go to smoke or just get some air when the smokers aren't around, when the dust isn't too bad. Bobby sits on one of the metal chairs surrounding the ashtray, one of his legs tucked to his chest, the other extended in front of him. Minho is leaning against the railing, his back to the city.

"And anyway," Bobby says, a grin spreading across his face, "I read the letter. I know how you feel."

Minho clicks his tongue, huffs. "I wrote that a long time ago," he says. "Before you and Bin started dating."

The timing was so bad, it was almost comical. Minho had finished writing the letter, and then two days after that, Bobby had told him that Hanbin had kissed him. He remembers the way the car they were in had smelled, when Bobby had told him — like mango-scented air freshener, the smell so potent it made Minho a little queasy. He remembers Bobby wearing an olive jumper, and washed out jeans, and small hoop earrings in both ears, and how his hair had fallen over his eyes when he ducked his head to smile.

"I'm not in love with you anymore," he tells Bobby. They're having him grow his hair out for the comeback. It's down past the tips of his ears now, but not long enough to tuck behind them. He has it all pushed back and tucked under his hood, except for a couple of stubborn strands that hang over his forehead. They'll dye it for the comeback at some point, but for now it's natural, black against his tan skin. "I got over it," Minho says.

"Good," Bobby says, "because, like I said, I don't have any feelings for you." He looks towards the door to make sure nobody is coming up here for a cigarette break, and then back at Minho. "Hoony hyung, though? Really?" He's smiling as he says it, front teeth prominent.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Minho asks. The wind picks up, messing up his hair and blowing it in his eyes. 

"I mean, he's like…" Bobby considers his words for a moment. "Really straight." He quirks his lips into a grimace. "Sorry."

"Well," Minho sighs, shrugs, "it's not like anyone can choose who they fall in love with," he says. "You didn't just pull Hanbin's name out of a hat." Bobby chews on his nails, and Minho guesses this isn't a topic that they should explore further.

"Anyway," Bobby says, hand still in his mouth, "we gotta set some ground rules if we're doing this." He wipes his hand on the front of his jeans, and says, "Rule number one: no more kissing."

Minho nods, making it as apologetic as he can. "Yeah, yeah, got it."

"Do you, though?" Bobby says. "Maybe you should be writing it down." He gives Minho an innocent look. "You like writing things down, right, hyung?" His bag is on the floor next to his chair. Bobby bends down and takes out a notebook and a pen, and holds them out to Minho. The notebook is YG branded stationery, and the side of the pen has the Korean Air logo. It's the writing kit of someone who cares more about what they write than what they do it with. 

Minho clicks the pen, turns over a new page in the notebook, and writes: _Rule 1 — No more kissing._

"Rule two, I can put my arm around your shoulders when we're sitting close together," Minho says, eyes on Bobby, pen tip to paper.

Bobby nods. "But only if we're with people we trust," he adds. "Rule three, we wear each other's clothes."

"What kind of rule is that?" Minho stares at him, puzzled. "I borrow Seungyoon's clothes all the time." He's wearing one of Seungyoon's jumpers, a dark grey one, because all of his are in the wash. 

"It's different when you're a couple," Bobby explains. "It's… nice. When you smell like the other person for a little bit." He smiles to himself, like he's recalling a fond memory. "It's not like we can wear couple clothes, anyway, it's too obvious. This is the next best thing."

Minho shrugs. "Sure, whatever you say." He writes it down. "Anything else?"

"We make each other's selfies our phone wallpapers," Bobby says, not even missing a beat. He stretches his arm out, and waggles his fingers. "Give me your phone." Minho takes his phone out of his jeans pocket and hands it to Bobby. "Okay, what do you want?" Bobby asks, turning on the camera. He checks the angle and the frame, and then looks at Minho. "Cool, but cute, right?" Minho laughs, and Bobby nods. "Got it."

He takes his glasses off. He angles the phone up with one hand, and with the other, he pulls his hoodie down. The wind makes his hair fly everywhere, and he smiles, big and so wide his eyes squeeze almost all the way shut. He clicks the shutter release button, once and then a couple times more. He thumbs through the photos, deleting all but the one he's happiest with, and then hands it back to Minho.

Minho unlocks his phone to look at the picture. Bobby said he was going for cool, but he just looks windswept, one hand in his hair, and happy. His dimples come all the way out when he smiles like that. It makes his happiness look genuine. 

"That's a really good selfie," Minho says.

Bobby huffs. "Yeah," he says, grinning, pleased with himself. He already has his phone out, and he's holding it out to Minho. "Okay, now you."

Minho hesitates. "I look better when other people take pictures of me," he says. "Do you wanna do it?"

Bobby shakes his head. "Nope," he says. "That's not the point. It has to be a selfie. A selfie means we spend enough time with each other that you just casually picked up my phone and took one," he explains.

Minho rolls his pen between his fingers. "Is that another couple thing?"

Bobby puts his glasses back on, and blinks at Minho. "Have you never, like, been in a relationship?"

"No," Minho says. "I mean, I've fooled around a little, everyone has, but—"

Bobby cuts him off. "Not once?"

Minho doodles on the side of the paper, not meeting Bobby's eyes. He draws a flower. "I've had other things to do. And," he draws a stem, and leaves growing from it, "you can't really date when you're an idol." He draws thorns. "Or like other guys." He reaches out, and takes Bobby's phone from him. "Anyway, let me get this over with."

He switches on the front camera. He lowers the phone, and angles the screen up just a little, so the framing brings out the sharpness of his jaw. He bows his head to the side, nonchalant, and raises his face but looks down, so his eyes are half-lidded. He sucks his lower lip past his teeth, biting on it to give it some more circulation and make it appear darker, and then releases it. He licks his lips self consciously.

He takes only one selfie, and hands Bobby's phone back to him without looking. Bobby unlocks it, and says, in English, very passionately, " _Dude._ "

"What?"

Bobby makes a noise with his mouth that sounds somewhere between an owl's hoot and the wind whooshing through a half-open window. " _Dude,_ " he says again, "this is a really hot picture."

He turns his phone to show it to Minho. The picture is already his lock screen and his wallpaper, and it looks… well, despite himself, Minho has to admit that it looks much sexier than he intended. "You'd look really good with a labret piercing," Bobby says, putting his phone away. "Like, right here." He points to the spot on his chin right under his lower lip.

"Maybe," Minho says, trying not to think about how the best selfie he'll probably ever take will live as Bobby's lock screen until all of this is over. "Okay, one last thing," he says. "Rule…" He counts down on the list he's written, and says. "Five." He taps the pen against the notebook. "We don't tell anyone the truth about this," he tells Bobby. "And I mean _no one._ "

Bobby hums his assent. "Of course," he says. "It's not like we can tell many people in the first place," he adds, and flashes Minho a smile. It's not particularly sincere.

Minho clicks the pen off, and looks at what he's written.

_MINO & BOBBY — CONTRACT (legally binding)_

_Rule 1 —_ _No more kissing!_  
_Rule 2 — MINO can put his arm around Bobby's shoulder. But only if there's no cameras!_  
_Rule 3 — We wear each other's clothes ~~often~~ ~~sometimes~~ often_  
_Rule 4 — Bobby has MINO's selfie as his lock screen. MINO has Bobby's selfie as his lock screen._  
_Rule 5 — Under no circumstances will Bobby & MINO tell the truth._

He signs his name under the list. He squats down in front of Bobby's chair, the notebook on his thigh. "Sign it," he tells Bobby, handing him the pen.

Bobby takes the pen and the notebook. When he finishes reading, he raises his eyebrows at Minho and says, "You print your own name?" He wheezes a laugh. "Dork." He signs his name in English, in big letters, and draws two buck teeth in the squiggle under the Y. And then he tears the paper from the notebook, and folds it several times over, and puts it in the pocket of his hoodie. "There we go," he says.

Minho gets to his feet. He checks the time on his phone, and Bobby's smiling face greets him. He has to be at dance practice in five minutes. He pockets his phone. "Jiwon-ah," he says, and Bobby stops as he's about to sling his bag on his shoulder. He looks at Minho, waiting. "I'm sorry all of this shit's happening to you," Minho says. "You deserve to be happy. I hope Bin comes around."

Bobby shoulders his bag. The wind is picking up again — his hair floats in wisps around his face. "He will," he tells Minho. "He's just… He needs help seeing how other people feel, sometimes." He reaches out, and puts a hand on Minho's upper arm, squeezing his bicep. "I hope Seunghoon hyung sees what he's missing."

Minho doesn't think he will, but he smiles anyway, because Bobby needs to see him do it. "Thanks."

  


* * *

  


For the first week after they've made the contract, nothing much is different because the both of them are too busy to even think about it. They might not have had a comeback yet, but their manager still wants Winner to continue doing activities. They do photoshoots for fashion magazines and brands — one for a skincare line, another for a vitamin water, back to back. Jinwoo is so sleepy at the end of the day he nearly takes a swig out of the complimentary bottle of essence they were given instead of his bottle of water.

They do fanmeets, and they wear cute headbands and silly sunglasses and blow soap bubbles for pictures. Minho sits next to Seunghoon a lot of the time, who acts just as friendly and warm towards him as he's always done. For the first couple of times, Minho is so relieved and so thankful that things seem to be okay between them, and he thinks that maybe this whole idea of pretending to date Bobby was just as stupid and as unnecessary as his gut feeling has been telling him it is.

But then the fans leave, and the cameras are turned off, and it's mostly just the four of them again, and the only time Seunghoon talks to him is when Minho accidentally bumps into him on the way back to the van, and Seunghoon tells him off. Otherwise, he barely acknowledges Minho's presence. Minho wants to talk to him, to clear the air, to try and salvage their relationship before it grows even colder, but all his anxiety wants to do is never associate with Seunghoon again, at least for another six months.

iKON are still getting ready for their comeback. YG is trying out something new, a three parter, which means that they barely sleep and hardly ever leave the studio. Bobby is held together with energy drinks, ramyun and spit, and the rest of them aren't doing much better. He's writing songs, producing songs, recording songs, and then producing some more songs. Every time Minho runs into Hanbin in the hallway, Hanbin looks harangued and like he's inches away from shouting at everyone. Being a leader is no joke. It makes Minho check up on Seungyoon more, to make sure he's eating as much as he can, that he's getting enough sleep and that he doesn't spend every waking moment worrying about the band. 

And then, when iKON's managers see that there's only so far you can push seven kids without having them snap, and allow them a two-day break, it starts. 

At first, it doesn't feel any different than friendship to Minho. Bobby invites him to the iKON dorm for pizza and Marvel movies on the evening of their first free day, and it's completely normal. They watch _Doctor Strange,_ which Minho has already seen twice. Hanbin, begrudgingly, lets them forgo their diets for one day, and they all have pizza, too many sweets and too much Coke. The pizza is greasy and perfect, and Minho licks the grease off his fingers as he eats.

The first moment it starts to feel different is when they're taking a break between movies, and Minho is in the kitchen reading the instructions off the back of a pack of frozen kimchi dumplings. He's trying to figure out for how long to fry them when Bobby comes up and hugs him from behind. Bobby doesn't say anything, he just puts his arms around Minho's waist and presses his face between Minho's shoulder blades. 

Chanwoo and Junhoe, who are both in the kitchen getting more paper napkins and Coke respectively, stop chatting to each other about the third Shrek movie. Junhoe says, "Um," and Chanwoo, as far as Minho can see, drags him out of the kitchen by the bottle of Coke Junhoe is holding. 

Once they're gone, Minho counts three full seconds until Bobby steps away.

"What was that for?" Minho asks.

Bobby gets a pan out of the cupboard, for the dumplings. "Just throwing the bait," he says. He pours some oil in the pan and starts heating it up on the stove. "When we're sitting on the sofa, you should put your arm around my shoulders."

They make the dumplings together and eat them in the living room with the rest of Bobby's band. Minho burns his tongue twice. Bobby feeds him a dumpling from his chopsticks. Donghyuk puts on _Guardians of the Galaxy,_ and as the movie starts, Minho casually stretches and lets his arm rest on the back of the sofa, and around Bobby's shoulders. Bobby is warm and comfortable against him, and as the movie goes on, he relaxes more and more against Minho's side until his head is on Minho's shoulder and his hand is on Minho's knee.

In the armchair to Minho's left, Hanbin is trying his best to pretend like he isn't giving them dirty looks. His face looks sour, and he's clearly not having a good time with the movie. Sitting on the floor next to Hanbin's chair, Junhoe fidgets. The atmosphere in the room is strange, and for the first time since he got here, Minho feels unwelcome. Like he's done something too drastic, too fast. But as the movie goes on, Junhoe relaxes. He takes the entire bag of crisps from the coffee table and doesn't put it back until it's nearly empty and his fingers are orange with cheese dust. He starts licking it off, which makes Jinhwan exclaim in disgust and throw a wadded up paper napkin at him, which starts a small altercation until Donghyuk yells at them that they're ruining the best scene.

Minho is putting his shoes on to go home when Bobby says, loud enough that everyone who's still in the living room can hear, "Hey, I could come to yours and spend the night sometime. When we're done with the next round of recordings."

Minho does up his laces. "Sure," he says. He straightens up and gives Bobby a wide smile, which Bobby returns. "I'd like that."

"Okay," Bobby says, beaming.

They start acting less like friends and more like boyfriends at YG too, and people notice. Some, like Jinwoo and Jinhwan, react well. Jinwoo leans over to whisper in Minho's ear when they're in the car back to their dorms one day, and says, "I'm glad you're happy." Jinhwan high fives him in passing, and even though he never says as much, Minho chooses to interpret that as being about him and Bobby, since it happens immediately after he walks Bobby to iKON's practice room for the day, holding hands.

Others, like some trainees and stylists, and even some producers, throw them dirty looks and avoid both of them, regardless if they're together or not. When they have time to eat at the cafeteria, their table is always empty. Nobody will sit with them except Daesung, who somehow finds himself there at the same time as Bobby and Minho whenever they go. He eats with them and chats with them, and then people start giving him looks, too. A makeup artist clicks her tongue disapprovingly. A hair stylist turns his chair away from their table so he doesn't have to look at them, with a very loud scraping noise. Daesung acts like he doesn't notice them, but Minho does, and every nasty look and every time someone slows their step to avoid running into him makes him want to hole up in his room and never leave. But then Bobby takes his hand, and squeezes his fingers, and winks at him, and it's bearable, almost.

Jiyong wraps up his album with a seven month delay, which Minho never hears an explanation for, and neither does anyone else he talks to. It's not anything anyone else at the company could get away with. Big Bang are there to celebrate, and then they all pack up and leave for their joint vacation on Jeju before Jiyong goes on his last big world tour before enlistment. Without Daesung there, Bobby and Minho eat alone again. 

Until, one breakfast, Jinwoo pulls up a chair next to Minho, and Jennie sets her tray down next to Bobby's, and gives Minho a warm smile. Somehow, little by little, people stop avoiding them after that. They still stare, they still don't talk to them unless they have no other choice, but fewer of them will take the long way around the company to avoid walking the same corridor as Minho and Bobby. 

When the first snow covers Seoul, Minho is in his room, writing. The snow won't stick — it's not cold enough for that — but it's comforting to stare out his window, in the warmth, while the flakes are swirling in the cold air outside. He's working on new songs. He writes about love, and being afraid, and being rejected, and feeling alone in a world full of people who have already found their happiness, and he thinks of Seunghoon frowning at him, and how cruel his eyes were. 

He taps his pen on his notepad, singing a couple of the lines back to himself. Jhonny hears him from where she's napping on his bed, and the sound of his voice makes her jump up on the desk and meow in his face. Minho realises he's barely moved from his chair for hours.

Bobby comes by, later. Jinwoo opens the door for him, and he brings the smell of winter and snow, and still warm hotteok which they eat with coffee in the kitchen. The cats are fascinated by Bobby — Bei rolls around in his shoes, and Jhonny won't stop rubbing herself against his ankles. 

And then Bobby takes Minho's hand and takes them to Minho's room, because they have to keep it up. Before they shut the door, Minho catches a glimpse of Jinwoo peeking from around the corner, and when their eyes meet, Jinwoo quickly pulls back into the kitchen to wash their coffee mugs.

They don't do anything much. Minho plays music, loud enough that nobody can eavesdrop on them, and sexy enough for Jinwoo to believe that they are doing _something_ if he tries to listen in. Bobby sits cross-legged on Minho's bed, on the covers, and fiddles with his phone. Minho sits at his desk, feet propped on the edge, notebook on his knees, and draws Seoul in the snow. He draws buildings, the road, and a pole sprouting wires and antennae.

"I'm always curious how it happened to other people," Bobby says suddenly. Minho looks up from his drawing. Bobby has his phone between thumb and forefinger. He's spinning it and bouncing it off the bed, full of nervous energy. "Liking guys." He doesn't say it quietly, like he's ashamed or trying not to be overheard. He says it like he's just starting a casual conversation.

_People say stuff like "I always knew", but I didn't,_ Minho had written in Jiho's letter in that bar in Hongdae, shielding his paper with his arm so that nobody else could see what he was writing. It was unnecessarily cautious — in that light, he could barely see what he was writing himself.

_We've been spending a lot of time together and I was having a great time because I could finally spend time with my favourite hyung again. am I repeating myself? and then you kept touching me and hugging me and you smelled really good and something in my stomach jumped every time we touched skin to skin, like missing a step on the way down, or watching people kiss on TV and thinking — I wish I could have that. and then I realised I wanted to have that with you._

"It just kind of… happened," Minho says, lamely. He can't tell Bobby the truth, not yet, but he can work his words around it until they're as close to the truth as he can make them. "I was watching a drama one day, and there was a kissing scene, and I thought: I want that. But I wanna be the girl." He frowns, realising that didn't come out the way he wanted to. "But I also wanna be the guy. But I want the other guy to also be a guy. Sometimes. Most of the time." He raises his arms in a shrug, nearly dropping his notebook. Bobby laughs, and Minho grins sheepishly. "What about— uh, what about you?" Minho asks.

"Um, his name was Jake?" Bobby smiles fondly as he says it. "It was back in America, I was in sophomore year. We didn't go to the same classes or anything, we met through church. His family were like, really devout. We used to hang out together after Sunday service. He gave me his favourite Mobb Deep record."

"Aw, man," Minho grins, " _The Infamous?_ "

Bobby smiles wide, nodding. "Hell yeah. A classic," he says, giving Minho the thumbs up. "Jake and me kinda… fooled around, a little. You know," he says, scratching the back of his head, "we kissed a little and like, did other stuff, because we were like, well, we gotta be ready for when we have girlfriends, right?" He gives a wheezing laugh. "Dunno why that included giving each other handjobs, but hey, it was fun." He doesn't look embarrassed about it, which is a new thing for Minho to see. "And then I moved back to Korea, and that was it."

"Do you still keep in contact?" 

"We got each other on Facebook, but like, not really." Bobby scrolls through his phone, and turns the screen so he can show Minho a picture. It's of a handsome, tall black guy in a denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up. He's got tattoos, and a bright smile, and close shaved hair, and his arm around a short girl with box braids down almost to her waist. "They've been dating for like three years now," Bobby says.

"Oh," Minho says, mouth rounded, "so he's not—"

"Nah," Bobby says. "Some people can't really live with that part of themselves and keep their faith at the same time," he says, taking his phone back.

"What about you?" Minho asks. He rubs his shoulder.

Bobby gives him a sidelong look. "What _about_ me?" He expels air through his teeth. "What about _you,_ Deuteronomy 28:1?" He nods towards Minho's left shoulder, where his tattoo is.

Minho laughs. "I asked first, Proverbs 8:13," he says, referring to the tattoo between Bobby's shoulder blades.

Bobby sticks out his tongue. When Minho doesn't take the bait and laugh, Bobby says, "Really, seriously? Okay." He's sitting cross-legged on the bed. He takes a hold of his ankles and throws his shoulders back, stretching out his spine.

"I don't really know how to talk about this," Bobby admits, looking at the ceiling instead of Minho. "I've always kind of, felt it, so I never really said it out loud much." He expels breath through his nose, and looks at Minho. "Like, Jesus was friends with prostitutes, so why would he mind gay people? It doesn't make sense to me." He shrugs. "My family never really cared about that kind of stuff. They're more like… You know, um, Matthew 7:12?"

Minho racks his brain. He knows some verses, but he can't always connect the words with the chapter and verse. " _Do onto others…_ " he starts, unsure.

" _As you would have them do onto you,_ yeah, yeah," Bobby finishes, nodding. "And also. People are flawed. God isn't. So people don't get to _decide_ who God loves and why. It's not our place." He lets go of his ankles, and stretches his legs in front of himself. He wiggles his toes. He's wearing striped socks, red and black and blue. "God loves everyone. It's people who hate."

Minho pulls his legs up on the chair, and hugs his shins. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he says. He puts his chin on his knees. "My, um, my aunt once said she was glad for conscription because it taught you how to be a real man." He closes his eyes, and opens them again, looking at the corner of his bed where the cover is torn up with how many times Jhonny has sharpened her claws on it. "She said we needed military service because it trained the homo out of you."

"Shit," Bobby says. He makes a face. "That's tough to hear from family."

"Yeah, my dad didn't talk to her for like two weeks after that," Minho says. That family dinner was one of the more uncomfortable ones. It was before he'd written any of the letters, when he thought he'd get over the whole thing with time, and that the reason he kept thinking of Jiho's lips just had to do with the fact that he was a teenager who masturbated more often than he showered. It will probably be funny, at some point down the road, how much time and energy he spent on trying to pretend like he wasn't attracted to other men. It's not funny yet.

"That's better than nothing," Bobby says. "Your dad's a good man."

"He is," Minho agrees. And then, "Does your family know?"

"Ah, yeah," Bobby says, "although," he winces, "I put a whole ocean between us before I felt okay enough to tell them." He scratches the back of his neck. "I hate keeping secrets from them, especially my brothers."

Minho squeezes his knees closer to his chest, trying to make himself smaller. "Yeah, my family have no idea."

He'd seen how the other trainees in their dorm had reacted to Taehyun. It didn't take a lot for others to pick on you if you were even a little different than them, because it was _funny_ if the delicate-faced kid who got really emotional about most things was gay, because that's what gay _was,_ to them. You couldn't keep your emotions in check, like girls couldn't, and your voice was as soft as your features, and you were into stuff that wasn't sports or tits or rap, like poetry and American rock music and theatre. 

Minho felt like he was lying to himself about who he was because he didn't fit their idea of what gay meant. And then, he wasn't sure that was a wholly bad thing, because it spared him a lot of the grief that Taehyun got. And that felt absolutely rotten, that he could somehow get away with it with no repercussions, quietly and unnoticed, because of how he acted and how his voice sounded, and how he wasn't anything close to what they were used to seeing from someone who was not straight.

He could've been more supportive of Taehyun, more vocal against what the others were doing when they were picking on him. But he'd tried, and failed, twice, to achieve his dream, and it was his third shot, and he wasn't going to do anything to fuck that up. Not even help a friend who needed it.

That was then. This is now, and here they are. Minho can't figure out what's changed that's making him do this. He hopes it's him.

"Why are you smiling?" Bobby asks. 

"I was always so worried about people seeing me as… different," Minho says. "And now we're doing this."

Bobby cocks his head. "You can say _gay,_ hyung. It's just us."

"I'm bisexual," Minho says. It's a kneejerk reaction, this time. He has to say it this time, too, because with Bobby, he has nothing to lose at this point. And Bobby might understand.

"Oh," Bobby says. "Dope." He grins, and something in the pit of Minho's stomach unclenches. A different thing, in his throat, burns.

Minho sniffles. "Not really," he says. "It kinda sucks." He rubs at his nose with the back of his hand. "I can't ever tell my family. My sister… I can't— I didn't wanna tell anyone, and now everyone knows anyway."

"It's not everyone," Bobby says, gently. "It's just inside the company, and it's not gonna get out." He sounds more sure of it than Minho feels. "YG has already had enough scandals, CEO Yang told our manager hyung as much. We just gotta be careful."

"Why do you care so much about doing this?" Minho asks. "Pretending to date?"

Bobby runs his fingers through his hair, and blows up his cheeks. He exhales heavily, cheeks deflating. "Because I love Hanbin," he says. The way he says it, it sounds like he's saying that the sky is blue, or that Minho has a cat, or that his blood type is O. "He was the first person I was in love with who loved me back the way I needed him to." His voice gets quieter, calmer when he says it. "And I can't let him go just like that."

Bobby squeezes his right hand into a fist, and places it against the centre of his chest as he says, "It's like losing a part of me. I've never," and he chuckles, looking away from Minho and letting his eyes drop to the floor, "shit, some of the stuff I've told Bin, I could never tell anyone else that kind of stuff. Not even Jiun hyung." He lowers his hand, lacing his fingers together and squeezing until his knuckles turn pale. "If I let Bin see what this looks like from the outside, he'll start missing it, and he'll change his mind." He nods at his clasped hands, rubbing the pad of one thumb over the knuckle of the other. "I know he will."

Minho sits in silence, trying to get his thoughts together. It feels like he's trying to catch fog in a jar. "I was always a coward about…" He tries, but he has to close his mouth and swallow spit before he can finish the sentence. His thoughts won't form into words. He feels like pressing his hands on both sides of his head to stop them flying out. "Love, I guess? Any of it. I couldn't tell anyone, because," he inhales, leaning his head back, "because I was afraid that they'd… I don't know. That I'd give my heart to them and it'd no longer be mine."

Minho exhales, blinking at the ceiling. "I can't imagine doing what you're doing. I can't imagine ever being honest with people about who I am, and how I feel, and that not being a problem." When he blinks his eyes again, they're wet. He hopes Bobby doesn't see it. "I wish I was brave, but I'm not," he says, around the lump in his throat.

"You're still here, even after everything," Bobby says. "I think that's brave." Minho straightens up, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, focusing on his breathing. "And you're doing this with me and living without hiding who you are, even though it's scary, and that's, um," Bobby expels a quick, short laugh that sounds like it was shocked out of him, "that's more than Hanbin could ever do. So." When Minho can look at Bobby again, Bobby's expression is warm. His smile, even if it's small, makes his eyes soft. "That's brave enough for me."

Minho nods, although he still doesn't believe it. "Thanks, Bobby," he says, and Bobby smiles, wide and with all of his teeth showing. It doesn't feel so bad to pretend he's okay, because of that.


	3. Chapter 3

All of their phones ping simultaneously when they're in the van on the way back from recording. It startles Minho from the edge of sleep. It's late at night, on the wrong side of midnight, and they're stuck in a traffic jam. Next to him, Seungyoon yawns so wide Minho is worried his mask's strings will snap and fly off his face. The air quality is so bad today they've issued a city-wide warning for everyone to stay indoors until the dust settles. Minho is already starting to feel a tightness in his chest, even though they've all been so careful.

"What's this about a party?" Seunghoon asks from the front seat. His face is illuminated by the white light of his phone. Minho hums disinterestedly, and settles back in his seat, closing his eyes again. "Minho-yah, check your messages."

"Hyung is bullying me," Minho says, wiggling in his seat until he can lean his head on Seungyoon's shoulder. "Tell him, Yoonie."

"Don't be grumpy, Minho," Seungyoon says gently. He pokes Minho in the side, not painfully, but sharp enough that Minho groans, dramatically, and opens his eyes.

"Okay, okay." Minho fishes for his phone in the depths of his coat pockets. 

When he finds it and unlocks it to check who's texting everyone at this hour, he isn't even surprised that it's Jiho. He's made a group chat with all of them and a massive number of other people — as far as Minho can see from scrolling down the list of names, almost all of their mutual friends. The chat title is _Jihoonie's secret b-day bash!_ In it, Jiho has written: _in two weeks. friday. clear your schedules. no excuses!!! it's jihoonie's twenty sixth and we have to all make an effort and be there! and yes this is a surprise so I don't want anyone mentioning anything to him. this means you park kyung. _Underneath that, Kyung had eloquently sent five middle finger emojis.__

 _Sounds good, count Winner in,_ Minho replies. Jiho sends four blue heart emojis back.

"I love a good surprise party," Seunghoon says. "Especially if I don't have to put in any effort to make it happen." He twists his head to look at Minho. "I mean, I'm not, am I? I assume Jiho is sorting it out? It's his responsibility." He adjusts his mask.

"How would I know?" Minho says. 

Seunghoon raises his eyebrows. "You're friends with both of them."

"Can you stop talking," Jinwoo says softly. He has his beanie pulled over his eyes, and his mask on, so the only thing visible of his face is the bridge of his nose. "Hyung is trying to sleep."

"Um," Seungyoon pipes up, "Jiho's saying that he's going to rent a house? In Pyeongchang-dong?"

" _What,_ " Seunghoon hisses, and he's on his phone again. "Is that the house?"

Minho pokes Seungyoon in the side, and Seungyoon angles his screen so he can see. Jiho's sent photos of a number of spacious rooms, all furnished with incredibly expensive looking, modern furniture. There's a garden that looks out towards the mountains. There's floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows. There's wooden floors, there's dramatically lit modern art. There's a hot tub. There's an indoor pool.

"Shit in my _mouth,_ " Seunghoon says, and it comes straight out of Busan.

"Language," manager Yoo warns from the driver's seat.

"Fuck," Minho says with gusto. 

Next to him, Seungyoon giggles, and says, "Son of a bitch," in his strongest satoori. 

"Oh for god's sake," Jinwoo says. He sits up, pulling his beanie off his eyes. "Let me see, you crazy bastards." Manager Yoo sighs, realising he's fighting a losing battle. Minho watches Jinwoo open the group chat on his phone, and scroll down to the photos Jiho sent. "That's an indoor pool," Jinwoo says, in awe. "Oh fuck, this house was in _Legend of the Blue Sea._ "

"There better be girls at this party," Seunghoon says. "I'm not getting in a hot tub with any of you unless I'm really drunk."

"If you're having a party with Woo Jiho, you'd better behave yourselves," manager Yoo warns. "No hard drugs. No unprotected sex. Make sure that nobody sees you going in or out, and that you can't be photographed. We don't need another scandal."

"We haven't had a scandal, hyung," Seungyoon says.

Yoo Si Mon hums, and his eyes meet Minho's in the rear-view mirror. "Yeah," he says. He continues looking at Minho, and Minho feels his cheeks heat up and his insides turn to acid. He is the first to look away. "Keep it that way, alright? Minho-yah?"

Minho crosses his arms over his chest. He stares out the window. "Yes, hyung."

  


* * *

  


"I feel like this is just setting me up for another intervention," Minho says, arms full of clothes.

"Don't be stupid," Bobby says. "It's for a special occasion."

"You _know_ Yoonie is going to take pictures, and I don't want to be immortalised on his Instagram wearing last season's stuff," Seunghoon says, and gets hit in the face with a beret that Bobby throws at him. "Respect your elders!" Seunghoon snaps at Bobby, who laughs and ducks behind a mannequin before he can get hit by the waistcoat Seunghoon pelts his way.

"Bobby is absolutely right," Taeil says. He drops another oversized jumper on the pile of clothes Minho is holding. "We also need to get Jihoonie a present."

"We're getting him a camcorder," Minho says. Taeil continues walking through the store, running his fingers across piles of folded shirts. "The one he has now is too old." Minho trails after the rest of them, readjusting his hold on a velvet jacket which is threatening to slip off the pile. "And we'll all do a video to wish him happy birthday at the party." Him and Jiho had spent over an hour texting about it last night, full of ideas. Jiho was working odd hours again, spending nights at the studio and days in bed, but he'd rearranged his schedule and cancelled all but his most urgent appointments so that he could be there for Jihoon's birthday, so that they would all celebrate it together, properly.

"That's a really sweet idea, hyung," Bobby says. He's walking in step with Minho. "He'll love it." He pats Minho on the back, and his hand lingers, warm between Minho's shoulder blades. Minho looks over at him, panic starting to rise because they're in public. Their managers might be with them, keeping a respectful distance, but this is a big, busy store, and every once in a while Minho catches a glimpse of someone with their phone out and pointed at his face.

Bobby winks, and removes his hand. He hurries to join Taeil next to a display of jackets. Minho lets himself breathe again. His eyes fall on two girls in school uniforms picking out some dresses — or they were, anyway, but they've spotted him, and now the taller one is whispering to the shorter, her hand in front of her mouth and staring straight at Minho. He smiles at them, and they wave. The taller one has her phone up, and then Yoo Si Mon steps in front of him, blocking off the camera, and nods at him.

Minho hurries to the fitting rooms. Everyone crowds around him to take their clothes from the pile, until he's left with only what he picked for himself. Seunghoon ends up carrying off nearly half the stuff to the fitting room furthest down. Minho takes the one next to his, because it's the only remaining free one. As he shuts the curtain after himself, he hears manager Yoo talking to the fitting room attendant, pointing out where they are and telling her to make sure she doesn't let anyone else in until they're done.

Minho is halfway through trying to figure out whether he _really_ wants another oversized plaid button down when he hears, from his right, Seunghoon's nasal "Minho-yah."

He untucks one flap of the shirt, and raises his eyebrows at his reflection. He can't decide if it looks better tucked or not. "Hyung?"

"I have something you'll like," Seunghoon says. "Can I come over there?"

Minho smiles at himself in the mirror. Maybe things were going to be okay, after all. "Sure," he says. "Surprise me."

Seunghoon slips in. He's wearing a striped shirt, beige and dark blue. The label is hanging from the back of it. He's also wearing a jacket that looks like it started out as denim, but then ran into twelve other different types of jacket on its way from the factory to the store. It shouldn't work, but on Seunghoon, it does.

"Put this on," Seunghoon says, handing Minho something dark grey. A shirt. Minho looks at the price tag, and whistles. "It'll look good with your hair." Minho's hair is a dusky blonde, dyed recently for the photoshoot they had with Nylon. Seunghoon's is a warm, light brown.

Minho holds the shirt out in front of himself, and then puts it against his body to figure out how it might look. It's impossible to tell — the shirt he's wearing is so big and billowy he can't see where the lines of his body actually are.

"No, idiot," Seunghoon says, reaching forward, "put it _on._ " He pulls the shirt Minho is wearing completely out of his trousers. "Don't get that one, it looks like an empty sack of rice."

"Oh, so that's what the pattern reminded me of," Minho says. In the mirror, he catches Seunghoon's grin before it's gone. 

He starts pulling the shirt off, and then stops, because Seunghoon isn't moving. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Minho isn't sure what to say. It's not weird, since Seunghoon has seen him without clothes plenty of times, but also, Seunghoon has been keeping at least three feet of distance between them at all times, lately. This fitting room isn't nearly big enough for that to be possible. With just Minho in there, it was uncomfortably snug. With the two of them, it's crowded.

"I want to see how it looks," Seunghoon says, his eyes on Minho's in the mirror. "I want to see if I'm right."

Minho shrugs, and pulls the shirt off. He doesn't need to unbutton it, it's that loose. He tosses it on the chair with the rest of the clothes he won't be buying. He can feel Seunghoon's eyes on his naked back, or maybe he's just imagining it. He figures he's probably imaging it, the prickly feeling at the nape of his neck that every movement he makes is being studied.

When he puts the grey shirt on and looks at himself in the mirror, he thinks he must have put it on backwards. The collar is so wide that the shirt looks like it's almost slipping off his shoulders. It dips low at the front. His tattoos are visible enough to be intriguing, and then some more. He stares at himself. It's a good look.

"You're supposed to tuck it in at the front," Seunghoon says. He takes a step closer, and before Minho can do it himself, Seunghoon has one hand on the hem of the shirt and another on the waist of Minho's trousers. He tucks in the front of the shirt, hand dipping below Minho's waistband. Minho lets him do what he wants — he's good at this, knowing how clothes should fit, and how to wear them so that they look like they were made for you specifically, and not picked off a rack. Seunghoon tugs at a corner of the shirt here and there, and then says, "I was right."

Minho looks at their reflection in the mirror. Seunghoon is standing close enough that his chest is almost pressed against Minho's back. There's no _reason_ for him to be standing like that, not that Minho can think of. Minho shifts his weight, examining the way the shirt goes with the burgundy skinny jeans he's got on. He turns to look at one side of his profile, and then the other.

"That's a good outfit," he says, once he's facing the mirror again. He notices one corner of the shirt has slipped off his shoulder, and he's reaching up to fix it, when — his fingers meet Seunghoon's hand, who must have had the same idea.

Only, Seunghoon doesn't remove his hand when their fingers brush. He pulls the shirt up, sure, but then he skates his warm fingers up the slope of Minho's neck, across the lettering that says _be kind._ Minho holds his breath. He tries to catch Seunghoon's eyes in the mirror, but Seunghoon is looking down, at his own hand on Minho's skin. 

Minho feels a touch on his hip. Seunghoon's other hand. He's somehow stepped closer without Minho realising. Minho has no idea what to do. Seunghoon's fingers are on his neck. He has no idea what this _is._ He exhales, lips parting, and in the mirror, sees Seunghoon take a breath. In the mirror, their eyes meet, and the look in Seunghoon's makes Minho doubt everything he knows about him. It's not an innocent look. It's not the look of someone who doesn't know what he's doing.

Minho opens his mouth to say, quietly, "Hoon—"

And then, Seunghoon drops his hands, and takes a step back. "Buy that shirt," he says, and steps out of the fitting room.

Minho exhales, long and deep, like he wants to blow his lungs out, and sinks into a crouch, head down, fingers interlaced at the back of his neck. He stays there for a couple of moments, eyes closed, until his heart stops hammering.

He buys the shirt, and the jeans, and Bobby says he'll let him borrow a jacket to match. They get the camcorder for Jihoon, which Minho takes custody of until the party. He feels like he's walking through someone else's life as he does it. Like he's watching a movie, but he has his head through the television screen, and he can see everything that's normally out of frame, all the wires and the microphones.

"Hyung, is everything alright?" Bobby asks him, concerned. They're getting food. Taeil is telling some anecdote that has Seunghoon throwing his head back, laughing too loudly for the room.

Minho can still feel the weight of Seunghoon's hand on his hip, the warmth of his fingers against his skin. 

"Fine," he lies. He grins at Bobby, wide and bright and brilliant, and hopes it reaches his eyes.

  


* * *

  


Minho has heard them call New York the city that never sleeps, and he supposes that's true, but there's a difference between not sleeping in New York, and being _awake_ in Seoul. He's wandered the streets of New York, jetlagged, hanging out on the outskirts of Koreatown because the Empire State Building was close by and he wanted to see it lit up at night, and because seeing so many signs in Hangul filled him with a strange sense of comfort, even though nothing else there felt even remotely close to home.

New York felt like a movie set, like there was a sheet of glass between him and the rest of the world. Everything felt one step removed, like it was playing out in front of him, not like he was an active participant. And here, even when he looks at it from the inside of a car, or the other side of a window, he is submerged in everything that Seoul is — the convenience stores, the streets that seem to all go uphill when you get to a certain part of the city, the river on a moonless night, the smell of grilled meat from a street stall on a winter evening. And Seoul on a Friday night is a sight. The city's eyes are wide open, its energy glittering down the streets, clicking against the pavements with the high heeled and pointy-toed footsteps, flashing across faces local and foreign and the headlights and brakelights of cars, bouncing off the building's signs, the adverts, the aircraft warning lights, all the way up to the very tip of Namsan Tower.

The taxi climbs up the hill. Minho is drumming his fingers on his thigh to the song that's playing on the radio. His jeans are too tight on his thighs, and the night is too cold to wear something torn in so many places for style points. He wraps his jacket — Bobby's jacket, leather and black — tighter around himself. The collar still smells faintly of Bobby's aftershave. _Rule 3 — we wear each other's clothes often._

Next to him, Jihoon is taking turns staring out the window, and trying to wheedle information out of both Minho and the taxi driver to figure out where they're going. 

"We're driving to the border, and you're going to sell my organs to northern smugglers," Jihoon says.

"Nope," Minho says, for the third time since they got in the taxi.

"That has to be it," Jihoon says, peering out of the window as they pass a mall. "I'll wake up in a bathtub full of ice in the DMZ with crows pecking at my cute cheeks." He turns to Minho, puffing out his cheeks.

Minho laughs, shoving him away. "Shut up, no."

Jihoon sits back, sulking. "Can I at least have my phone back?"

"You can have it when we get there," Minho says. If he gave Jihoon his phone, he'd waste no time in turning on the GPS and figuring out where they were heading. 

"See, that doesn't make me think you _aren't_ going to sell my organs," Jihoon says. Minho sighs and leans his forehead against the cool glass of the window. The driver turns onto a sidestreet. They must be close. "Aw, come on, Minho, don't pout," Jihoon says, when he realises Minho isn't playing along. He knocks their shoulders together. "I'll let you surprise me, then. Should I cover my eyes?"

Minho grins at his own reflection. He turns to Jihoon, who has his hands over his eyes, pushing up his glasses. "Just be patient," Minho says.

Jihoon lowers his hands, and smiles at him. "I'll _try,_ " he says. "But seriously, this isn't for a show, right? We're not going to be filmed?"

"It's not for a show," Minho says. That would be a shitty move, making his best friend work on his birthday without even giving him a heads up beforehand. He raises his hands, palms towards Jihoon. "And I will not be answering any more questions. Please direct all inquiries to my manager."

Jihoon says, "Okay."

Minho, hands still up, grins. "But I will have to blindfold you for a little bit."

Jihoon twists a corner of his mouth up, nodding. "Awesome. I've always wanted to try that," he says, trying not to burst out laughing. Minho clips him on the back of the neck for being cheeky, and Jihoon does laugh then, too loud. The driver turns up the radio, and they drive on.

A couple of streets before they get to the house, Minho unwraps the scarf he's wearing around his neck. It's copper coloured and silk, and it works with his outfit, but he's not confident enough to wear it — it feels like too much. He makes Jihoon take his glasses off, and then he wraps the scarf around his eyes, tying the knot tight at the back of his head.

The moment he does it, Jihoon says, "Whoa, that smells really good, what is that?" He sniffs, his nostrils flaring. "Victor&Rolf Spicebomb, right?"

"I have no idea," Minho says as the taxi starts slowing down. He leans forward, and sees the gate up ahead. "It's not mine."

Jihoon hoots with surprise. "Whose is it, then?"

The taxi comes to a stop. Minho takes Jihoon's hand and leads him, carefully, out of the car. He holds a hand on Jihoon's shoulder, steering him to the gate.

"It was in the jacket pocket when I got it," Minho says, trying to fish his phone out of his pocket with one hand and keep Jihoon from wandering off with the other. _We're here,_ he texts Jiho. It takes only a few seconds after he's sent the text for the gate to swing open.

Jihoon nods sagely, letting himself be led through the gate and onto the gravel path leading to the house. "Whose is the jacket?"

They pass a security guard, who flashes a torch at Minho's face, and then nods, waving them along. There's a German Shepherd sat, alert, by his feet. "It's Bobby's," Minho says.

They pass another security guard, who Minho almost doesn't see because he's standing in the shadow of a huge jasmine bush. This one doesn't have a dog — he does, however, have a taser and a baton. He nods at Minho as they pass.

 _Door's unlocked,_ comes a text from Jiho. _We're ready, yo!_

"Wait," Jihoon says once they're at the door. It's cracked open, just enough to let air in, but not enough for Minho to see inside. Minho stops, his fingers on the knot of the scarf around Jihoon's eyes. "Why do you have Bobby's jacket?"

 _We have to do it at the party,_ Bobby had texted, the night before. It was late enough at that point that Minho was already in bed, but still too early for him to go to sleep. Instead, he'd used all his pillows to prop himself up into a sitting position with his sketchbook on his lap. He was drawing what started out as a tree, naked and spindly and black, but had turned into a magpie, wings raised up, tail flared, beak open in a screech. Thorns were growing out from under its feathers, and its heart was exposed in the middle of its chest, tiny and black like a lump of charcoal, and crawling with maggots. Jhonny was asleep at his feet, a warm and comforting weight. He'd taken a break from drawing to reply to Bobby with, _Do what?_

 _Something big._ Bobby had written. _Everyones gonna be there. I got a plan but you gotta trust me! R u in?_

Minho had tapped his pen on the sketchbook, rhythm nonexistent. He'd put the tip between his lips. He'd nudged Jhonny with his toes, gently, and smiled when she curled up into a tighter ball in her sleep. And then he'd written, heart beating faster than it had any right to, _Yeah, ok._

Now, he puts a hand on the door. He hooks a finger around a knot in the scarf. 

Minho says, "He's my boyfriend."

The door swings open. Minho sees a living room full of their friends, all happy, all holding their breath. Jiho is right by the door. He catches Minho's eye, and winks at him.

Jihoon gasps. "Bobby is your—"

Minho pulls the scarf off his eyes in one move, and the whole room yells, " _Happy birthday!_ " 

And Chungho is there, and Hyuntae is there, and Hansol is there, and all of Block B are there, and so is everyone else they know, and everyone wants to congratulate Jihoon. Hands pull him, smiling and flabbergasted, away. 

Jiho wraps an arm around Minho's shoulders, and tugs him into an awkward, sideways hug so he can plant a wet kiss on his temple. Minho grimaces, wiping at his face with the scarf.

Jiho says, grin wide, "Welcome to the party."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it, the chapter that earned this fic the tag 'recreational drug use'. some weed is smoked here. this is super illegal in korea and could get you into a lot of trouble if your friends are narcs, so be careful and use responsibly. I'm not the police or your mum, so.

Jihoon gets more hugs in the first fifteen minutes than Minho has gotten for all his birthdays combined, which is, in Minho's opinion, how it should be. All of their friends are there. The house struggles to contain them, and eventually it gives up, spilling the excess people onto the lawn overlooking the city. Some of the faces at the party Minho hasn't seen in months, not outside of an Instagram feed, at least, but to Jiho's credit, he managed to have all of them be true to their word and show up tonight.

Woo Jiho doesn't do anything by halves. There's a fully staffed, fully stocked bar. There's a DJ booth with, Minho is glad to see, an actual DJ and not just the human equivalent of the shuffle button. She's tearing into an old Drunken Tiger song and making it sound fresher than it was when Minho first heard it. There's food, enough to feed an army unit — pizza, and fried chicken, and jokpal, and kimchijeon, and yakitori, and takoyaki, and Minho is still on a diet, so he turns away from the chicken and grabs a sheet of roasted kale to snack on. He immediately gets crumbs all over his fingers. It tastes like air with a hint of mustard and salt. He sighs, not even bothering to hold onto his self control, and grabs a skewer of pork, biting bits off and enjoying whatever spices the meat has been rubbed with. He has to eat if he wants to drink, and he's definitely going to want to drink if he's to do whatever Bobby is planning. 

He's taking another bite from the skewer when a camera flash blinds him, almost makes him stab himself in the roof of his mouth. When he gets his eyesight back, he sees that it's Seungyoon, his Holga hanging from a strap around his neck, grinning. Minho squints at him. 

"Breaking your diet already, huh?" Seungyoon says. 

"Today's my cheat day," Minho lies, breaking off another piece of meat with his teeth, mouth full of pork. 

"You've earned it," Seungyoon says. "Great job with Jihoonie." They look over to where Jaehyo is trying to get Jihoon in a headlock. The only reason he's succeeding is because Jihoon is laughing too hard, doubled up and hooting, to put up much of a fight. 

Minho swallows the pork, smiles wide, wide enough to reach his eyes and light them up. "Just doing my best friend duty."

Seungyoon is wearing a trenchcoat, looking halfway between a Burberry model and an extra in _Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy_. He plunges a hand into one of its deep pockets, and says, "Hang on." He rummages in there, and Minho can hear a faint clicking sound. And sure enough — Seungyoon pulls out a bottle of Courvoisier, and holds it out to Minho. "To celebrate," he says. 

Minho takes it. It's full, unopened. He laughs. "What— where did you…"

Seungyoon's smile is huge. "Jiho hyung thinks he's so subtle with his secret stashes."

"Are you bad-mouthing your hyung, Yoon-ah?" As if summoned, Jiho appears at their side. He's holding five whiskey glasses, stacked one on top of the other, in one hand. With his other hand, he takes the bottle from Minho before Minho can react in any way except stand there and gape.

"My hyung isn't very smart if he thinks he can hide his booze from me," Seungyoon says, with a sweet smile which makes Minho believe he must know more than one hiding place for the booze. 

Jiho laughs through his teeth. "Come on, now, Yoon-ah," he says, "don't be rude. Get the rest of your band together so we can open this." 

There's a huge, U-shaped sofa in one corner of the house, where the full-length windows line every wall and look out onto the city below. Jiho sits them all down there — Seungyoon with his camera, still in his trenchcoat, Jinwoo in his black suit jacket and CDG T-shirt, Seunghoon, jeans cuffed, silver chain tight around his neck — and sets a glass in front of each of them. As the youngest, Seungyoon pours.

They raise their glasses. They toast. They knock the first drink back in one breath, and Seungyoon pours again. They sip it — everyone except Seunghoon, who knocks his back again, and Seungyoon tops it up for him the moment he sets his glass back down again.

"You know the first rule," Jiho says, raising his glass to Seunghoon.

"No one drinks alone," Seunghoon says, smiling, bringing the glass to his lips.

"No one drinks alone," Jiho echoes, and they all drink again.

They get through half the bottle before Minho has to sit back on the sofa and take a break. He leans his head back, closes his eyes just for a moment. He isn't going to fall asleep, he'll just wait a little until his head stops doing that thing where it's making his brain all soft from the outside in.

Someone's knee bumps into his. "Hey." It's Seunghoon. "You doing okay?" Eyes still closed, Minho smiles. He nods. "Okay," Seunghoon says.

Minho opens his eyes, breathes out, and sits back up. His cheeks are tingling, just a little, from the alcohol. Across from him, Seungyoon is showing Jiho his camera, explaining how to use it. He's holding it out so Jiho can look through the viewfinder, but he still has the strap around his neck, so Jiho has to lean until they're almost cheek to cheek to do it. Minho isn't clairvoyant, but he can see how quickly that can turn into Jiho toppling over into Seungyoon's lap and nearly strangling him with the strap. Next to them, Jinwoo is looking out through the window, at the city glittering in the distance. His cheeks are flushed from alcohol. He looks miles away. 

"Is that the shirt we picked out?" Seunghoon asks. He's sitting next to Minho, their thighs touching. "It looks really good." He's wearing a dark brown button-down patterned with small white birds, and it's unbuttoned down so low Minho doesn't get why he bothered buttoning it up in the first place. 

Minho snorts. "Sure it looks good, when you picked it," he says. "Fashionista Lee Seunghoon. What was that award they gave you?"

"SNS Style Icon of the Year, Lee Seunghoon," Jinwoo says. He's still staring out the window, and when he feels both their eyes on him, he looks over to them. "What? It's in their living room. I have to look at it every time I come over."

Seunghoon looks uncharacteristically embarrassed. "I enjoy it when people tell me I'm well dressed," he says. 

Minho coos with sympathy. "I think you're very stylish, hyung." 

Seunghoon pats his thigh. "Thanks, Minho-yah," he says, at the same time that Seungyoon yells, "Jiho oppa!" over Jiho's loud cackle. Minho looks over, and sure enough, just like he thought — Jiho is draped over Seungyoon's lap, almost falling onto the floor. Seungyoon is struggling to keep his camera away from Jiho's grabbing hands.

"Just— let me delete it!" Jiho says, squirming, somehow managing to bring himself closer to the floor than the camera.

"You can't delete it, it's not a digital camera!" Seungyoon's cheeks are pink, and he's barely getting his words out from how hard he's giggling. Minho's laugh bubbles in his chest, warm. They're not even that far into the party, and Seungyoon is already drunk enough to start calling other men _oppa_ and laughing with his whole body. It's going to be a good night. 

"These kids," Seunghoon sighs, world-weary. His hand is hot on Minho's thigh. The tips of his fingers are almost brushing the inseam of Minho's skinny jeans. Minho feels it in the pit of his stomach, a spark struck. 

"Oppa, no!" Seungyoon shrieks again. He raises his camera up, as far as he can — and Jinwoo snatches it out of the air. He hugs it to his chest, scrambles over the back of the sofa, and runs back towards the party.

"What the fuck," Jiho says, frozen momentarily with one hand on Seungyoon's trench coat and the other on his shoulder, trying to pull himself up. Seungyoon just blinks. Both of their brains seem to catch up at the same time, but their reactions are wildly different. Seungyoon just laughs harder, while Jiho kicks his long legs and jumps up off the sofa.

"Hey!" he yells, pointing after a long gone Jinwoo. "Give that back! It's not yours!" He marches away, disappearing into the crowd, followed by Seungyoon's laughter.

"Yoon-ah," Minho says, trying to keep his chuckling at bay, "aren't you worried about your camera?"

Seungyoon looks over at him, still grinning. "Why would I be? Jinwoo hyung is—"

"A lightweight," Seunghoon says.

"A clumsy lightweight," Minho supplies. "Jiho hyung, too." Seunghoon hums in agreement. His hand hasn't moved from Minho's thigh. Minho flexes his muscle, just to test if Seunghoon has forgotten where his hand is. Seunghoon squeezes his thigh, but doesn't move his hand. Minho's heart jumps. So Seunghoon knows what he's doing. 

"Ah, fuck," Seungyoon says. His grin droops, and disappears. "Son of a bitch." He gets up. He shrugs off his huge trench coat, like a boxer entering the ring. It makes Minho laugh, too loud for his own ears, so he has to muffle it with his hand. 

Seungyoon drapes his coat on the back of the sofa, ridiculously trying not to get it creased, and says, "Okay, I'll. Be right back." And he's gone, slipping between a group of people trying to floss to _Uptown Funk_ and momentarily throwing off their rhythm. 

Seunghoon scoffs a laugh from the back of his throat, and leans forward for the bottle and glasses. He moves his hand from Minho's thigh, and the absence of it is palpable. Minho runs his hands down his legs, fingers catching in the rips on his jeans. He exhales, watching Seunghoon pour the cognac. 

"When was the last time you got drunk?" Minho asks. 

Seunghoon turns, handing him a glass. Minho takes it. If this were a drama, their fingers would brush, and they'd make brief eye contact, and then someone — Minho, probably — would quickly look away. That doesn't happen, though. He takes the cognac from Seunghoon without any contact between them, except for Seunghoon's knee, which is digging into one of Minho's own.

Seunghoon presses his lips together, thinking. "You know," he says, "I think it might have been London." 

There was free champagne at the fashion show, and neither of them were above drinking as much of it as they could get away with. Which, it had turned out, was a _lot_. After the champagne, Cara and some of her friends had taken them to Soho. Neither of them had been to a gay bar before, and it was a revelation. They'd danced until Seunghoon's shirt was sticking to every line of his body with sweat, and then some more, until Minho's feet hurt and he stopped worrying about how rudimentary his English was, because nobody could hear them over the music, anyway.

"What about you?" Seunghoon asks. 

"A couple of months back," Minho says. "I went to noraebang with Jiho hyung and Jihoonie, and we got pretty shitfaced." His lips had been stinging from the spicy ramyun, and he'd cried in front of Jiho. He'd not cried in front of him for a long time, before that. It made his heart clench, it still does, with how Jiho had just hugged him, how he knew exactly what to do. Like the weight of all of Minho's secrets was lighter than a feather.

He means to only take a sip, but somehow he ends up throwing back the whole drink at once. When he turns back, Seunghoon grins at him. "Fuck, I need to catch up, huh," he says. He pours again. They clink their glasses together. "Cheers!"

"Cheers!" Minho says, and turns his head away to drink. It goes down smooth, the way strong drinks that give you a headache that lasts all of tomorrow tend to. When Minho turns back, Seunghoon is looking at him. He looks too thoughtful. Minho grins at him, a picture of cheerfulness. The cognac warms his smile. "What?"

"Are you really dating Bobby?" Seunghoon asks. His voice is level, emotionless.

Minho's grin almost falls, but he pulls it back up. "Yes," he lies, easily. _Rule five._

All Seunghoon says is, "Huh." He keeps looking at Minho.

"His— his selfie is my lock screen and everything," Minho says. He pulls out his phone and shows it to Seunghoon. _Rule four._

Seunghoon looks at Minho's phone, at Bobby's wide smile, briefly, and then back up at Minho. "So why aren't you with him now?" He stares at Minho down the slope of his nose, eyes haughty. Like he's trying to pick a fight. 

This, the hand that was on Minho's thigh, his fingers on the slope of Minho's neck the other day — all of it shows that something's going on with Seunghoon, but as to what it is, Minho can't guess, and he isn't even sure he would want to know. Not at this point, anyway, when Seunghoon is clearly expecting him to take the bait and start another argument.

Minho pushes himself up off the sofa. "You don't want to hang out anymore?" He scoffs. "Fine." He allows himself a second to be impressed with the fact he doesn't lose his balance, not even for a moment. "I'll go find Bobby."

"Alright," Seunghoon drawls, eyes tight. He grabs the Courvoisier from the table, and gets up too. "I'll go find someone to finish this with." Without another word to Minho, he heads right towards a group of girls. They're standing in a circle together, drinking wine, and their whole demeanour changes the instant they spot Seunghoon. One of them fixes her hair, brushing her fingers through it like she's in a shampoo commercial, and the other pulls her shirt down, just a little bit, to show a little more skin. Minho really gets it, and wishes he didn't. 

He moves through the crowd, keeping his eyes open for Bobby. There are a _lot_ of pretty girls at this party. Some of them look like models, some of them are dressed like rappers, but he doesn't know most of them, and he wonders how Jiho does. 

There's a number of other faces he doesn't recognise, as well —- he passes through a room where he literally doesn't know anyone at all, until the guy bent low over a coffee table and sprinkling weed and tobacco onto some rolling paper looks up to ask if anyone has a filter, and his hair falls off his face, and Minho recognises him. He grins at Minho when their eyes meet, and it makes his lip piercing pop. "Mino!"

"Hey, Peno hyung," Minho says, walking over. Jung Dongwook pats the empty space on the sofa next to him, just vacated by a girl wearing a very short, very low cut jumpsuit. She walks past Minho, her eyes looking him up and down. They linger on the tattoos peeking out of his shirt.

"Come hang," Dongwook says. There's a guy sitting on his other side, bucket hat pulled down almost to his nose, only the tips of his fingers poking out of the huge sleeves of his shirt. He hands Dongwook a filter that looks to be made out of the corner of a pack of cigarettes. Dongwook accepts it without even looking in his direction, like the two of them are going through a choreography they have perfectly memorised. 

"I'm looking for someone," Minho says, apologetic. "Maybe later."

"Who are you looking for?" Dongwook asks. "Maybe we've seen them. This place gets a lot of foot traffic." He looks over at the guy in the hat. "We should probably move." The guy shrugs, and Minho can only see a sliver of his face. He feels like he knows him —- sure, the fact he's dressed like a stylish hobo and getting ready to smoke weed with Jung Dongwook doesn't narrow it down _much,_ and with all the baggy clothes he's wearing he seems to be deliberately hiding, but there's an itch at the back of Minho's mind that keeps telling him he should know who this guy is.

"I'm trying to find Bobby," he tells Dongwook. "Do you know if he's here yet?"

"Oh, you know what, I think I saw him at the bar," Dongwook says. He licks one side of the cigarette paper, sealing the joint closed. "Pretty sure he was doing shots with, um, what's that kid's name…" He trails off, tapping the filter-end of the joint on the table as he thinks. "Short kid, big teeth, grey hair?"

"Jinhwan?" Minho says.

Dongwook grins. "That's it," he says. The guy in the hat huffs a laugh, trying to hide it behind the cuff of his sleeve. "Bring them, too, if they're down."

Minho can't imagine Jinhwan even knows how to smoke weed, but to be polite, he says, "Sure, I'll ask. Thanks, hyung." 

"Catch you later, Mino," Dongwook says, amicably. "If we're not here, just follow your nose."

"Hey, Mino," the guy in the bucket hat says, softly, and Minho stops walking away, and turns. The guy seems to have produced a lighter somewhere deep from his pockets. Minho is morbidly curious about how much stuff he can fit in there —- the clothes are baggy enough to fit two of him.

Dongwook leans forward, joint in his mouth, and the guy lights it for him. As he sits up to do it, he turns his head, and Minho sees the flowers tattooed down the side of his neck. "If you see Jiho," he says, and Minho can't believe he hadn't recognised him sooner, "let him know I'm here."

Dongwook blows out a cloud of smoke. "Hyuk can't roll his own, so he's stuck with me," he says, smirking.

Kwon Hyuk chuckles, almost embarrassed, as he accepts the joint from him. "Dongwookie just likes to feel useful," he says. He takes a drag, and Minho watches Dongwook watch his lips press around the filter. He takes that as his cue, and leaves them to it.

When he finds Bobby at the bar, he's by himself. Jinhwan is nowhere to be seen. Bobby is drinking out of a bottle of beer when he notices Minho — his eyes widen, and then he grins, and then he's pulling Minho into a hug. He smells like pepper and cinnamon. He smells like the jacket Minho is wearing, like the scarf in Minho's pocket, and it's — it tugs at Minho's heart in a way he doesn't expect. He hugs Bobby a bit tighter. Bobby's hair is dark brown, cut just above his eyes, which crinkle under the force of the smile that he gives Minho once they separate.

"Hey," Bobby says. "Great to see you." He's wearing an oversized, light sweater over skinny jeans that hangs almost down to his knees. 

"Well done on _Return_ ," Minho says. "You worked hard." It's been a week since iKON's comeback. Watching _Love Scenario_ sweep the charts made Minho glow with pride for all of them, but especially for Bobby, who'd barely slept a full night in the week leading up to the album coming out. It was a fantastic album, in Minho's opinion easily iKON's best to date. The rest of Korea seemed to think so, too. Kids in playgrounds were singing _Love Scenario_. Everyone knew the dance. "You really nailed it with the title track."

"Thanks, it's— me and Bin did it together," Bobby says. "I'm really proud." He beams. Minho's listened to the lyrics. They sound like a chapter closing, and it makes him wonder if Hanbin and Bobby writing a song like that together means that they've resolved something. He wonders if Bobby would tell him, if they really had. "That outfit is fire, by the way," Bobby says, before Minho can ask about the song. "You look handsome, hyung."

The blush burns on the high points of Minho's cheeks when he smiles. "Thanks," he says. He blames the alcohol for how hothis cheeks feel, because this isn't the kind of reaction sober Minho would have. "It's the jacket, I think," he says, and Bobby laughs.

He leans into Minho's space, sliding an arm around his waist. Minho suddenly feels a lot warmer, very quickly. "You should keep it," he says. He motions to the bartender, who hands him a fresh bottle of beer. "It looks better on you than on me." He hands the beer to Minho. It's Cass, and Minho wonders if Jiho has a lifetime supply of the stuff just because he did an ad for them once.

He drinks. Mixing his drinks will be a problem for the Minho of tomorrow. The Minho of tonight would rather get drunk faster than think about things like — Seunghoon's hand on his thigh, Bobby's arm around his waist. 

Bobby leans in closer. "Did you check out the hot tub yet?" He whispers it against Minho's ear — the music here is loud enough that Minho barely hears him. His breath is hot on Minho's neck.

"No, it's cold outside," Minho says. He wishes he could feel more relaxed. But every single part of him that's touching Bobby feels like they're too close. At least for a room that's this full of people. "I think it might snow later." He sounds stupid to his own ears, all of a sudden. Like he's only talking about the weather as a pathetic attempt at avoiding other things. He drinks to chase the feeling away.

"So? That's why it's called a _hot_ tub." Bobby seems infinitely amused by this. "It's part of my plan."

"Am I ever gonna find out what your plan is?" Minho tries to disentangle himself from Bobby's side hug, taking a step to the side, but Bobby just follows, walking in step with him. 

"You'll know when it starts happening, don't worry," Bobby says. "Hey, wait," he says, and he's digging his phone out of his pocket. "Let's take a selfie." He raises his arm, keeping his other one around Minho's waist, and turns on the camera. "Do a pose." 

Minho pouts, and raises an eyebrow. Bobby moves his arm so that it's around Minho's shoulders, and throws up a peace sign. His nails are painted silver. He smiles — not a grin, not a smirk, a genuine wide smile, soft around the edges so that it shows his dimples — and snaps the picture.

They look at it together, Bobby hanging off Minho, arm hooked around Minho's neck. "You didn't make a face," Minho says. He pouts at Bobby, exaggerated and childish, and Bobby rolls his eyes fondly. "You're just smiling. I thought we were doing a funny photo."

"We can't both be handsome at the same time," Bobby says, putting his phone away. "I gotta balance it out with my rabbit teeth." Minho huffs a laugh. "Yeah, it's funny because it's true."

"You're calling me handsome?" Minho raises his eyebrows. "How much have you had to drink?"

Bobby scoffs. "Not enough." He disentangles himself from Minho, and starts off towards the stairs leading to the upper floor. "Come on, let's find the guys. Donghyuk says he found a bottle of Hendrick's in one of the upstairs rooms."

  


* * *

  


Minho sits on the lip of the bath and lets go of the camcorder carefully and slowly, making sure that it's balanced properly on the sink. He can see the screen reflected in the mirror — the shot looks about right, ending at his shins and just a finger's width above his head. He's managed to angle the camera so it doesn't get the toilet in the shot, which is a bonus. He checks his reflection in the mirror, and fixes his hair.

"Is it recording?" Jiho asks. He's sitting in the bath, his long legs dangling over the edge. He's also wearing sunglasses. They're not his. It's half an hour to midnight. 

"Uh—" Minho leans forward again, and presses the big red button. The camcorder beeps. He sits back with a smile. "It is now." He waves at the lens. "Jihoonie, happy birthday!"

"Happy birthday!" Jiho yells from the bath. He toasts to the camera with the bottle of whiskey he's holding.

"I hope you've had a good party so far," Minho says. "I haven't seen you since we got here, so I think you probably have." Behind him, Jiho starts singing the _happy birthday_ song under his breath. 

Minho smiles at the camera. "I know how much you love taking videos, so we got you this. That way you can always have memories of us from tonight, even though you might be too drunk to remember much." He laughs at himself. "Use it well!"

Minho blows a kiss to the camera. "I love you," he says, throwing up a heart with his fingers. "Thank you for being a friend to me for all these years." 

Jiho chuckles to himself, and continues singing _happy birthday,_ this time in English. Minho turns around and flicks his shoulder. Jiho raises his eyebrows, and lowers his sunglasses to throw Minho a dirty look, and Minho laughs. He turns back to the camera. "I hope we're still friends even when we're both grandfathers," he says, "and we bore our grandkids to death with stories about the stuff we did when we were idols."

"Okay, my turn," Jiho says. He sits up a little, facing the lens. "Pyoji, happy birthday." He toasts to the camera for the second time in less than a minute, and takes a swig of whiskey. "You might be a stupid goofball sometimes, but that's why I love you." Minho rolls his eyes, grinning. "Maybe someday we'll say goodbye to Block B, but you'll always be our maknae." Minho coos at the lens, fluttering his eyelashes. Jiho laughs, and says, "Also." He snakes an arm around Minho's midsection. "Your dad is paying for this party."

Minho starts, "Hyu—" when Jiho strengthens his grip, and pulls him backwards into the bathtub.

Jiho's cackle is so loud it bounces off the bathroom tiles. Minho yelps, legs kicking in the air, terrified that he'll crack his skull open on the wall, the tub — but Jiho's hand is there, catching the back of his head so Minho doesn't hurt himself, and he's still laughing, and they're chest to back. Minho can feel Jiho's laughter through his shirt, shaking his ribs. He lets his head fall back, lets it slot into the curve where Jiho's neck meets his shoulder, and he laughs at the ceiling tiles and the fluorescent light, soundless at first, and then wheezing and louder, stupid and uncool. It doesn't matter at all that the camera is still rolling, because Minho is drunk, he has been drunk for the past couple of hours, and he could have given himself a concussion, but Jiho's got him, and Jiho's laughter is just as embarrassing and sincere as Minho's own, peals of it washing over the both of them.

There's a knock at the door. "What are you _doing_ in there?" Park Kyung's voice comes from the other side. And then, more to himself than to either of them, he says, "Fuck, this is dumb, why am I even—" and the door is unceremoniously pushed open.

Minho cranes his neck and meets Kyung's eyes. He waves at him, fluttering his fingers. Kyung raises his eyebrows, but he's grinning. "Thanks for the invite," he tells Minho.

Jiho scoffs a laugh. "You don't need an invite," he says. He readjusts his grip around Minho's waist.

Kyung grins wider, a little more smug, and turns his head briefly to say, "Get in here, yeah?" to someone in the room. Minho is starting to feel all the blood rush to his head with how far he's thrown it back, when Kim Hanbin walks into his field of vision, stopping in the doorway. 

Their eyes meet. Minho, face almost upside down, winks with all the confidence of the drinks he's been mixing the whole night. Hanbin smiles at him, quick and tight-lipped, and then Minho has to raise his head because there are white spots in his vision.

Kyung steps between the camera and the bath, and leans forward to look at the reflection of the viewfinder in the mirror. "Oh, it's still recording?" He sits on the lip of the bath, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Alright." He waves at the camera. "Hey, Jihoonie. Happy birthday."

Jiho's arm is warm against Minho's stomach, and Kyung's words fade into the background. Minho's perception of time is pretty skewed at this point, so he's not sure how long they've been in here trying to record their birthday messages for Jihoon, but Jiho's been in the bath long enough that the enamel isn't freezing anymore thanks to his body heat — and, Minho figures, all that alcohol they've both had. 

He puts his hand on Jiho's, and with barely any pause, Jiho tangles their fingers together. He's still holding the whiskey bottle in his other hand — he nudges it against Kyung's thigh, who takes it with grace and enthusiasm. Jiho squeezes Minho's hand, and when he laughs at something Kyung says at the camera, it's into Minho's hair. "Kyung, stop lying," he says, huffing a breath that makes the hairs on the back of Minho's neck prickle up. "Get help."

"And lastly," Kyung says, louder, drowning Jiho out, "your dad is paying for this party." Minho sees his shit-eating grin in the mirror.

"I already said that," Jiho says, unimpressed.

Kyung turns around, throwing Jiho a look over his shoulder. "What? When? I was supposed to say that."

"You were fucking around with B.I, I wasn't gonna wait forever," Jiho says. Minho feels him move his arm, the one that's not around his waist, and watches Jiho's fingers creep towards Kyung's belt.

Kyung rolls his eyes. "You couldn't wait for five mi—"

And then Jiho's fingers tug on the back of Kyung's trousers, and Kyung lands like a sack of rice on Minho's stomach, and it _hurts._ Minho yelps with all the breath that explodes out of his lungs with the impact, but it's still not louder than Kyung's swearing, so high-pitched it's almost a scream as he folds nearly in half, legs kicking out.

The tip of Kyung's shoe catches on the bottom of the camcorder, still balanced precariously on the sink, and time slows down. 

Minho watches, mouth open, as the camcorder sails towards the unforgiving tile floor. 

He hears Kyung's shocked intake of breath. 

Behind him, he feels Jiho's entire body go from relaxed and boneless to taut like a bowstring as he tries to scramble from underneath the combined weight of Minho and Kyung to save the camcorder before it shatters. 

For his part, Minho just stares.

He continues staring as Kim Hanbin dives forward, skidding across the floor on the knees of his designer jeans, arms outstretched. 

Kyung's legs are still flailing in the air as Hanbin catches the camcorder, like some kind of American football movie metaphor, or like that scene from the first _Captain America_ movie when he jumps on the grenade.

When Hanbin hits the tiles, the camcorder tucked securely to his chest, time returns to its normal speed again.

Hanbin lies sprawled on the floor, the heel of Kyung's shoe almost close enough to smack him in the nose. He's grinning, wide and relieved, and clutching the camcorder like a football, or a kitten, or a very expensive piece of video equipment narrowly saved from premature death. Minho blinks, feeling like his heartbeat is just catching up to the fact that he doesn't have to panic anymore.

Hanbin turns the camera to point the lens at his face, still grinning. "Happy birthday, hyung," he says, and clicks the big red button to stop recording.

Silence blankets the bathroom for a moment, as they're all breathing and letting what just happened sink in. And then Kyung says, slightly squashed from on top of Minho, but his syllables still sharp like smashed glass, "Woo Jiho."

Minho suddenly feels very threatened, and very vulnerable. The way a deer feels, probably, when it sees the headlights of the oncoming car and realises that this will be its very, very final time crossing that country road. "I hate it when mum and dad fight," he whines, which makes Jiho chuckle against his back, but Kyung doesn't laugh at all. And then, a bit more strangled, because Kyung is still sitting on his stomach, Minho says, "Please, can you get up from me."

"I thought we were supposed to lose weight for the comeback," Jiho says, and Kyung snorts a laugh. He tries to get out of the bath, but his legs are too short to reach the floor from how he's sitting, and every time he moves with any kind of force, Minho groans in protest because it's happening far too close to his crotch to not be painful. After several failed attempts, Hanbin takes pity on them, and reaches to grab Kyung by both of his arms and pull him out. Kyung takes it with as much dignity as anyone could muster in his situation. Once he's back to his feet, he pulls at his jumper with one hand, smoothing it out, and takes the camcorder from Hanbin with the other. 

He looks down at the pair of them. Jiho makes no attempt to push Minho off, and for Minho's part, Jiho is warm and soft enough that he doesn't mind lying here for as long as he can. And longer, if he can get away with it. 

Kyung sighs, and checks his phone. "Jiho, we have ten minutes," he says. When he looks up, his face is still pissed off, even though his voice sounds more considerate when he says, "Everyone cares about making this a great birthday for Jihoonie, and I know you do, too. So let's not fuck this one up because we fucked around for too long, huh?" He smiles. "I'll text Yukwon to get the dog photos to distract him."

"I'll let Minhyuk know where the candles are," Jiho says, and moves as much as Minho's weight will allow him. "Minho-yah, can you—"

Minho braces his arms on both sides of the tub, attempting to lift his whole body off Jiho and out, but then a hand closes around his upper arm, and Hanbin pulls. Minho takes his hand, pushing himself up.

When he's back on his feet, he says, "Wow, Hanbin-ah. When did you get that strong?"

"Oh," Hanbin says, and he genuinely looks like he's thinking about it, "I've been working out a lot to prepare for our tour. Some of my stage outfits are sleeveless, and I want to look good in them."

Jiho clambers out of the bath, readjusting his sunglasses as he stands up. He raises them to look Hanbin up and down, and then lets them fall back on his nose. "We should arm wrestle later," he tells Hanbin.

Kyung squeaks a laugh from the doorway. "You don't even work out anymore."

"I don't need to," Jiho says, following him out. "My upper arms are already strong." He puts a hand between Kyung's shoulders, shoving him so he hurries up. "It's good genes." They leave the room and head back downstairs towards the party, the sound of Kyung's laugh trailing behind them.

Minho is about to join them when Hanbin says, "Hyung, could we talk?" 

He stops. Hanbin is standing in the middle of the now empty bathroom, shoulders slouched. His hands are in the pockets of his jeans, but then he takes them out, tugging at the hem of his shirt like he doesn't know what else to do with them. Minho looks at his hands, and then at his face. Hanbin presses his lips together, and then exhales like he'd been holding it in.

"Can it wait after midnight?" Minho asks. He shifts his weight, hand on the doorframe, one foot in the room beyond. "It's Jihoonie's birthday." He needs to be downstairs. He needs to carry the cake to the party after Minhyuk lights the candles.

Hanbin shakes his head. "No, but I'll be quick," he says. He looks Minho in the eyes. "I didn't want to tell people about Jiwon and me, when it started," he says. "But Jiwon did. And he told people, without asking me." Minho stiffens. His eyes dart to check the corridor beyond, but he can't see anyone. The only thing he can hear is the thumping of the bass and the bubbling sounds of laughter and conversation from downstairs. 

"I was terrified that it would reach my family that I was seeing a guy," Hanbin continues. "That my mum would find out." He's still looking right in Minho's eyes with determination, like he'd once read in a book that was what you had to do when you talked to people. "She'd always wanted grandkids," Hanbin says, and Minho has to look away from him. He frowns, looking at the floor where Kyung had spilled a bit of whiskey. 

"She… she wouldn't get something like this," Hanbin says. He stutters a bit at the start, but once he gets the first words out, his voice is steady. "She'd make it like it was something I was doing to her rather than something I was." He pauses. "I _am,_ " he corrects himself, and when Minho looks back at him, Hanbin's pushing his hand through his hair. They cut it to his eyelids, and when it falls back down over his face, he huffs a breath, puffing it up again.

Hanbin looks at Minho, his eyes hard. He presses his lips between his teeth, and then he says, "Imagine the person you're in love with saying your biggest fear, outloud, in front of all of your friends and coworkers. For me, that was when Jiwon told the members we were together." 

Minho thinks back on Seunghoon in the hotel lobby, his handsome face cruel and his eyes angry when he told Minho that being true to himself for even a moment would mean single-handedly ruining everything Winner have worked for. The feeling like the bottom of his stomach had dropped out, like he was floating outside of his body, a little to the left, and watching himself get his heart broken. And he understands Kim Hanbin.

Minho hugs himself, holding onto the points of his elbows with his fingers. He stares down at the inside of his forearm, and he says, "Yeah, I get it." 

He smiles weakly at the curve of his wrist. "Every time he touches me when we aren't alone, my stomach cramps with fear," he says. "Even though it's been almost a month now." He feels like it should have stopped by now, the way his entire body stiffens when Bobby initiates physical contact and other people are there. It's not real, anyway, so it shouldn't matter. But it does.

"What I want to say," Hanbin presses on, "you're really good for Jiwon." A smile forces itself onto his face, barrelling through his discomfort, but still small and quick to leave. "And I'm glad." 

It occurs to Minho that he hasn't spoken to Hanbin since before this whole thing started. He's been round to hang out with iKON plenty of times, at Bobby's insistence, and he's seen them all around the company, but Hanbin had somehow always been on the sidelines, never a direct part of anything that included Minho.

It occurs to Minho that this is the exact opposite of how he imagined a conversation with Hanbin about him and Bobby going. He expected some shouting, maybe. Definitely more anger. Not this, Hanbin standing in front of him looking like this is the most important conversation he doesn't want to be having.

"I hope you manage to do what I can't, and let—" Hanbin looks at Minho now like he'd been sitting on all these words for all that time, and he has to let them out or he'll burst. "Let yourself be loved," he finishes. He clears his throat, suddenly embarrassed. The tips of his ears are red, and so are his cheeks. "That's all. Thanks for hearing me out, hyung. We— we should get back to the party." He slips past a stunned Minho before Minho can even move, quick and light on his feet and already walking down the stairs by the time Minho has remembered to close his mouth.

They manage to get the cake ready in time for midnight, after all. It's strawberry and chocolate, and Minho nearly drops it on the floor when taking it out of the box it came in for no good reason other than the whiskey Kyung is passing around for them all to drink, which goes to his head unreasonably fast. Minhyuk painstakingly sticks the candles into the cake and lights them, every single one of the twenty six of them, and it's an absurdly big number of candles for a comparatively small cake.

They turn off all the lights, and the music, and Minho carries the cake from the kitchen with Jiho and Taeil and the rest of Block B behind him. Jiho puts a hand on the small of Minho's back, which is supposed to be there to make sure Minho doesn't drop the cake in the dark, but he's also holding onto Minho's shirt to keep himself walking straight and not tripping. The whiskey bottle is left empty on the kitchen counter, and most of the whiskey ended in Jiho's stomach.

Jihoon starts crying as they sing _happy birthday_ to him, and laughs wetly when Taeil ends the song on a ridiculously long high note. He blows out all the candles in one go, and all six of them, Minhyuk and Taeil and Jaehyo and Kyung and Jiho and Yukwon, dip their fingers into the cake and smear the frosting on his cheeks, and his nose, and his chin, and his forehead, until there's more cake on Jihoon's face than there is on the plate, and Minho is shaking with laughter. 

Seungyoon, reunited with his camera, takes a photo of Jiho and Yukwon licking the frosting off Jihoon, and then snaps another one immediately afterwards, of Yukwon slapping Jiho with a palm full of cake right across the face.

"I guess we won't need the forks, huh," Jaehyo says. He's holding a handful of plastic forks and paper plates to his chest like he wants to protect them from the world. They watch Jiho pick up a strawberry from the ruins of the cake and throw it at Yukwon. They watch Yukwon catch it in his mouth and give Jiho a wide, smug grin.

Seungyoon's camera flashes as Minhyuk pulls on the collar of Jihoon's shirt, trying to prevent him from lunging at the cake for more ammo. Jihoon fights against it, his long arms flailing towards Minho, who is still holding the cake. Minho, terrified for his life but primarily his clothes, takes a cautious step back.

He doesn't expect Jaehyo to scoop some cake with one of the forks he's holding and catapult the chunk at Jihoon, hitting him square in the nose. Neither, apparently, does Minhyuk, because he gapes at Jaehyo, his grip on Jihoon's shirt loosening in surprise. Jihoon doesn't correct the force he's pulling with in time, so he staggers forwards, thrown off balance, and then both his hands are buried in the cake — and then they're both on Jaehyo's face, slapping his cheeks. Jaehyo yells out a curse, recoiling, and Seungyoon's camera flashes again.

The plastic forks scatter all over the floor when Jaehyo drops them, and then, he's lifting the entire cake from Minho's hands, his face lit up with the prospect of revenge.

Minho skitters back, his shoes crunching on plastic forks, and backs right into someone.

Jaehyo runs at Jihoon, the cake brandished like a weapon, and hands hold onto Minho's forearms, steadying him.

Minho catches a whiff of pepper and cinnamon under the overpowering smell of confectioners' sugar, and then from behind him, fingers briefly squeezing Minho's arms, Bobby says, "Careful. You nearly slipped."

Chunks of cake fly everywhere as Jaehyo slams the entire thing into Jihoon's chest, yelling out, "Happy birthday, fucker!"

Minho isn't fast enough to back away, and a wet glob of cake splotches on his cheek, narrowly missing his eye only because he turns to face Bobby.

Gravity starts acting immediately, and he can feel the cake sliding wetly down his face — and then Bobby's thumb is there, wiping it off.

Minho watches Bobby pop his thumb into his mouth. Bobby licks the cake off. His eyes are on Minho's the whole time, bright. He gives Minho a wide grin that plunges straight down to Minho's gut, twisting it.

He can feel the heat flooding his face as Bobby says, "There. Didn't wanna get it on the jacket." 

"Thanks," Minho says. His voice comes out strained. He tells himself it's the whiskey. And the cognac. And the fact that nobody has ever, ever, ever done that to him. He kind of wants to touch his cheek, just to feel if there's something left that Bobby missed.

Bobby is still smiling when a giggling, tiny Lee Taeil spins into him. Cake all down his front, Jihoon's new camcorder raised up to his face, he almost knocks Bobby off his feet. Bobby catches Taeil under his arms, grabbing him before they both fall down. The moment is broken as Bobby yells, "No you don't!" He shoves Taeil back into the rest of Block B, all of them covered in cake, and runs in right after him, laughing, delighted.

Minho exhales, swallows around nothing, and his heart rate slows down to normal.

  


* * *

  


It's that time of the party, around four in the morning, when people are most likely to be drunk or otherwise intoxicated enough to find somewhere they can take their clothes off, either by themselves but, more preferably, in good company.

Snow is falling, light and soft and muffling every sound — the party on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the occasional passing car on the other side of the tall garden walls, the jets of the tub. The snow isn't strong enough to conquer the trails of stream that come out of the water, though — as soon as the snowflakes touch the hot air, they melt into nothing.

Minho sits in the hot tub, alone, in his swimming trunks because he came prepared, and smokes. He can't remember who gave him this particular joint anymore — about the fifth or sixth of the night, if he's counting — but it was probably Dongwook. It's usually Dongwook.

He inhales the smoke deep into his lungs and holds it there. He breathes in through his nose until his lungs feel like they're about to burst. And then he exhales, face tilted up towards the night sky. He imagines he can feel the snow falling on his face. He squints, trying to make out the stars and count them. He gets to two, and that's all he sees. The lights of Seoul are too bright.

When he leans his head forward again, he sees Bobby shrugging off his jacket to get into the tub. Bobby, in just his underwear, with an open bottle of soju and a big smile. 

"Hey," Bobby says, sliding over to sit next to him. 

They swap. Bobby hands him the soju, and Minho hands Bobby the joint.

Minho drinks. Bobby smokes.

Swallowing the first couple of mouthfuls, Minho realises that he's really, really thirsty. He almost drains the bottle, but he remembers his manners, and stops himself at the last moment.

He watches Bobby's cheeks hollow as he takes a long hit. The end burns orange. Minho had hardly ever seen Bobby smoke before, but — yes, tonight, that's how it started, with Dongwook and Hyuk on one side of them, and Jiho, Hyoseob and Seunghyun on the other. Minho and Bobby were sitting in the middle, and they were passing the joint around until they smoked it to a stub and Dongwook rolled another, and then it started over again. They went around and around the circle until the edges of everything were soft and Hyoseob's head was on Jiho's shoulder, and Hyuk and Seunghyun were whispering into each other's ears and giggling, and Bobby kept grinning at Minho and touching his arm.

They swap again. Minho watches Bobby's throat move as he drinks. 

"How come you're alone out here?" Bobby asks. He tilts the bottle of soju to peer down the neck of it, like he's checking if there's any hiding at the bottom that he failed to drink.

"I don't know," Minho says with a shrug. "Trying to start a trend?" he offers. He leans back a little, extending his arm away from the tub so he can shake the ash off the tip of the joint. It lands on the thin layer of snow forming on the ground.

Bobby laughs. "Cute," he says. "You're cute." Minho raises his eyebrows at him, and Bobby shrugs, like it's self explanatory.

A moment passes in silence, or several minutes pass in silence, Minho can't be sure. That's the thing with weed — time stretches and contracts, like a rubber band being pulled apart and then snapped back together.

At some point, Bobby sets the empty bottle of soju down by the side of the hot tub.

Minho smokes, his cheeks tingling, and watches as the smoke blends with the steam from the water and floats upwards towards the black sky.

Bobby watches the snow fall and melt in mid air above them, seemingly infinitely fascinated by it. His arms are resting on the sides of the tub, his fingers playing over the surface of the water. And then, eyes still focused on the snowflakes doing their downward dance, he says, "We should do something now." He turns to look at Minho. "I'm ready to start my plan."

Minho chuckles. "I'm finally going to find out what it is?" The joint has gone out in his hand. It's not worth lighting it again even if he had a lighter close by — it's burned almost down to the filter. He leans back and drops it right into the empty bottle of soju Bobby left by the tub. 

When Minho makes himself comfortable again, Bobby says, "Yeah," and then he raises himself out of the water, only to sit back down again — in Minho's lap, his knees bracketing Minho's hips. 

"Hi," Bobby says, grinning, and his hands are in the water, trying to find Minho's.

Bobby leans forward, and Minho's brain floods with panic — but no, all Bobby does is put his lips next to Minho's ear to say, "Put your hands on my hips."

Minho does. He doesn't know what else he'd do with them. Bobby has muscles everywhere Minho doesn't — he knows Bobby works out, that he goes to the gym and that he goes swimming as often as he can. He's seen Bobby shirtless — Seunghoon likes to joke that iKON have a set minimum of time they need to spend shirtless stipulated in their contracts. But.

But neither of those things have done anything to prepare Minho for Bobby in his lap, water trickling down his chest, down his abs. They look like they wouldn't dip at all if Minho poked him in the stomach. His arms are around Minho's neck, incredibly warm and solid, every muscle defined. Minho tries to focus on Bobby's face instead. When he looks up, Bobby gives him a warm smile.

"Is this okay?" Bobby asks.

Minho nods. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"You're like, incredibly tense," Bobby says. Minho doesn't think he is — he's had enough weed that everything feels less important, less urgent than it normally does, but Bobby says, "Every time I touch you, you freeze up. Why?"

"Oh," Minho says, "no, it's just." He shrugs, small enough that Bobby's arms barely shift. That's one line of conversation he doesn't want to follow. "It's fine."

Bobby moves. One hand goes on Minho's right shoulder. The other, on his left cheek, and it feels — Bobby's hand is warm and wet, and Minho's cheek was dry, but it doesn't feel bad. 

Minho doesn't want to pull away and leave, because Bobby is in his lap, and he's kind of heavy but in a way that Minho appreciates, in a way that makes Minho feel more aware of his own body than normally. He feels the water surrounding him, the cold air against his skin, Bobby sitting on his thighs. The heel of Bobby's hand almost above his hammering heart. 

"How's this?" Bobby asks. He runs his thumb across Minho's cheek, smooth. 

Minho smiles. "Kinda weird, with no cake there," he jokes, and Bobby's smile is an echo of his, but brighter. He runs his hand down Minho's skin, across the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. Like he's practicing calligraphy, spelling out something Minho can't decipher.

And then, both of his hands are on Minho's chest. "You're so skinny," Bobby says, looking down at the tattoos on Minho's skin. Minho moves his hands to the small of Bobby's back, thinking that there should be a balance — if Bobby's arms are up, his should be down. Bobby's skin is smooth and warm under his palms. "Your heart is beating really fast, hyung," Bobby says.

Minho swallows. He wishes he had a drink. "Sorry," he says. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

"That's okay, hey," Bobby reassures him, offering him another smile. And then he grimaces, shivers. "Fuck, it's cold." Minho can see the waves of heat coming off his body in the freezing winter air. "Can you—"

"Yeah, yeah," Minho says, immediately. He takes his arms out of the water and puts them around Bobby. He's trembling, a little, and Minho pulls him towards himself. Because, he reasons to himself, that's what you do, you share body heat.

Bobby slides forward until he's fully sitting in Minho's lap. He's still wearing his necklaces, the ones he never takes off — they hit Minho in the chest when he leans forward enough. Minho runs his hands up Bobby's back, fingers mapping out his muscles until they reach his shoulders, and Bobby sighs a breath. Minho can't tell why he does that, but their cheeks are almost touching.

"I don't—" Minho says, and he inhales, sharp, when Bobby turns his head, the tip of his nose pressing just underneath Minho's ear. The tip of his nose is cold, but everything else is hot, including his lips, including his breath against Minho's skin. "I don't get how this is supposed to help." Minho digs his fingers into Bobby's shoulders, and he feels his muscles shift. Bobby arches his back, pressing their chests together. "There's no one else here."

Bobby breathes out a shaky breath, and it takes Minho a moment to realise that he's laughing. "Minho," he says, "you really are dense sometimes," and there's fondness in his voice. 

He raises his head, and Minho thinks that they've done everything Bobby wanted them to do, that the show's over and Bobby is going to get up and get some more drinks — and Minho could really, really use one of those right now. But.

But, Bobby moves just far enough to leave a kiss on Minho's cheek, a quick touch of his lips. He stays close enough that the tip of his nose is pressed against Minho's cheekbone. It's slightly warmer now. Minho feels like he's not getting enough air. He opens his mouth, inhaling deep. He can smell the cologne Bobby uses again, but this time, it's off the skin of his neck, which is so close to Minho. Pepper and cinnamon.

Bobby sits up, as much as he can because Minho is still holding onto him, and meets his eyes. His pupils are wide, the whites of his eyes a little bloodshot, just enough that Minho can make it out in the light coming from the lights in the tub — from the weed, probably. The hair falling over his forehead is getting damp, and Minho wants to push it off his face to get it in some kind of order. He's about to do it, moving one of his hands, but then Bobby moves.

He pushes his hands up Minho's chest. He trails his fingers up the sides of Minho's neck, and he says, "Just let me—" and he takes Minho's face in his hands.

Everything turns honey-slow as Minho watches Bobby close his eyes, watches him tilt his head, and feels him touch their lips together. Minho's mouth is still open, and Bobby's tongue is against his, and it's in Minho's mouth.

It's not there, and then it is, as simple as taking a breath. 

Bobby tastes sour, like soju and weed. His lips are full and soft. It's been so, so long since Minho has kissed anyone.

And so he moves his head forward, chasing Bobby's tongue with his own.

Bobby sighs into his mouth, and he moves against Minho, rolling his hips down. It's a subdued movement, like he's just trying it out, short and smooth, but it's enough for Minho's brain to go static. 

Minho makes a noise, halfway between a cough and a hiccup, and Bobby stops kissing him, abruptly. When he moves away, his lips are wet. Minho feels dizzy, the way you get when you've just stepped off a rollercoaster and your body hasn't caught up to the fact that you have both your feet on the ground and your head is the right way up. 

"Was that too much?" Bobby says, and for the first time in a while, since he was sitting at an empty table in the cafeteria, hiding in his hoodie because the whole company was avoiding him, Minho sees him looking scared. His eyes are wide.

Minho reaches up, and smooths Bobby's hair away from his face. He lets his hand fall to Bobby's neck, to his shoulder, and he holds it there, not sure where else to put it. "Didn't we have a rule about this?" He tries out a smile. It doesn't quite work. He's not angry — he rarely gets angry, and he doesn't think he could be angry at Bobby. But this doesn't feel the way he thought it would — it doesn't feel as good as he expected.

"Bin and me…" Bobby tries. He sits hunched over slightly, and while his hands were on Minho's skin, he now holds them to his own chest, picking at the crucifix around his neck. "We worked some stuff out." He sneaks a look at Minho's face, eyebrows furrowed, apologetic, embarrassed. "I shouldn't have tried to win him back like that. And I shouldn't have got you involved."

"Jiwon-ah—" Minho starts. Bobby shakes his head. He puts his hand on Minho's, moving it from his shoulder. He gets up, standing up in the hot tub, but Minho can't let him end it there. He grabs Bobby's wrist. "Hear me out. Please." 

The splash of water hits his chest when Bobby sits down next to him, heavily. Minho knows how this conversation would go in movies, and he tries, as much as he can, not to follow that pattern. His mind is still fuzzy from the weed, but he owes more to Bobby than recycled lines. 

"We said some things to each other that I never thought I could tell anyone," Minho says. " _Ever._ " He tries a smile again. This one seems to work better, because Bobby is looking directly at him instead for an escape. "I'm really glad for that."

Minho takes a deep breath and looks to the sky. The snow has stopped falling — it's just dark above now. "I feel like this is the part in the drama where we say we're in love and start dating for real, but," he laughs, soft and self-deprecating, "I told you that I wrote that letter a while ago."

"It wasn't a while ago for me," Bobby says, and when Minho looks back at him, Bobby is looking down at his hands, clasped in his lap under the surface of the water.

"I'm sorry," Minho says, and this, he figures, is how it feels to break a heart.

The view is much the same from this side of things, except that the feeling is a little duller, a little more smooth, like a stone from the bottom of the river rather than a jagged rock. "I'm sorry that I can't feel the way you do," he says, and Bobby sighs, shaking his head. "But, for what it's worth, you helped me feel brave about things I was always afraid of."

Bobby huffs a laugh, and when he looks at Minho, he blinks, and tears slide down his cheeks, unbidden. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, you too." He breathes out a shaky breath, which turns into a laugh. "Oh, my God, hyung, don't you start crying too."

Minho groans, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm. "I'm not," he says. His hands are wet from being in the water, and all rubbing at his eyes does is make his whole face wet.

Bobby shoves at Minho's ankle with his foot, and Minho grins, trying to wipe his face despite how futile it is. "Stop it," he says.

"You stop," Bobby chides. "I'm the one who got my hopes crushed, not you," he says, and it sounds like a joke, but it doesn't feel like one. "You should be comforting me."

"I'm drunk and stoned," Minho whines. "I'm sorry." He sniffs, loudly, trying to get a grip on himself.

"I'm going to go now," Bobby says, "because— because I shouldn't be here with you anymore." Minho nods. He drags his hands through his hair, wetting it, making it stand on end. He wants to say something that would help, anything that's not _I'm sorry I can't love you the way you love me,_ anything that'll shift the weight of guilt from his chest, but he can barely look at Bobby. 

Bobby gets to his feet. He steps out of the hot tub and picks up his jacket, holding it at an arm's length from his body and trying to not get it wet. "We can— we'll be okay," he says, to his feet. "I just. Need some time, okay?" His teeth are starting to chatter from the cold. "Give me some time."

Minho nods. He tries to say something good. But he says, "Get back in the house. You can't catch a cold now, you just had a comeback." It sounds so stupid to his own ears that he wishes he could sink into the hot tub and never come out.

Bobby looks at him for a moment, like he wants to say something else. He opens his mouth — and then he closes it, and nods. And then he's off, his trainers toed on, his underwear dripping. 

Minho gives him a head start of five minutes. He sits in the hot tub, alone, looking out towards the lights of the city, not letting himself think about anything except how they flicker.

And then, after five minutes, he wipes his eyes again, and heads inside to find a towel, and a way to push the hurt on Bobby's face to the back of his mind, where he can deal with it later.

The world, not out of spite but out of habit, spins on.


	5. Chapter 5

The day after the party is a day off for Winner. Minho and Seungyoon's original plan was that they spend it by the river, dust emissions permitting, taking photos. Thanks to the best alcohol Pyo Jihoon's father's money can buy, however, Minho and Jinwoo only get back home at six in the morning, without Seungyoon or Seunghoon. Minho is drunk enough and confident enough to believe that he doesn't need to drink any water before bed to be fine in the morning. He gets through his skincare routine and manages to change into his pyjamas before he passes out.

He wakes up at eleven in the morning to a piercing headache and a text from Seungyoon that just says: _Dying._ In the group chat, a message Seunghoon sent three hours ago says, _lslerl. ho jard r go heome._

For his part, Minho thinks he's fine and that the headache will go away as soon as he has some painkillers — but then, he gets out of bed and immediately feels like his soul is about to be ripped out of his body through his nose.

He can't remember ever being this hungover. He doesn't think anyone in the world has ever been this hungover.

He goes to get some water, and feels like he's going to throw up the entire time, breathing through his nose and thinking about anything except how badly the contents of his stomach want to exit his body via his mouth. When he gets to the kitchen, he's greeted by the sight of Jinwoo sitting at their dinner table, hunched over a steaming plastic container of something. He's trying to eat it carefully, blowing on his spoonfuls to cool them down. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks like he's inches away from giving up and crawling back to bed.

Minho sits down opposite him, clutching his glass of water like a lifeline. "Is that…" he tries, and has to drink the entire glass of water before he can continue. "Hyung." He breathes through his mouth. "Is that haejangguk?"

Jinwoo nods. There's a meow from below — Rei, begging for food. Jinwoo fishes out a slice of beef and blows on it, and drops it on the floor. Rei sniffs at it, looks up at Jinwoo, then at Minho, and then he arches his back and runs away. Jinwoo is about to pick the meat up and throw it away, but then there's an orange blur, and Jhonny gulps it down in one bite. 

"From the place down the road?" Minho asks. Jinwoo sits up straight, and gets another spoonful. He nods again. "Is there more?"

Instead of answering, Jinwoo slides over a plastic bag that had been sitting on a corner of the table. The second container of haejangguk is still warm, and someone put a plastic spoon in the bag with it. Minho eats without caring that it burns his tongue, only remembering to thank Jinwoo when his mouth is full of bean sprouts. After the containers are empty, the both of them slink away to their respective bedrooms like soldiers after a lost battle.

Minho spends the rest of the day drifting in and out of sleep, his arm thrown over his eyes, hating the sun and his choices. 

The next day, when they're all feeling human again, Seungyoon texts the Winner group chat a photo from the party. It's of the four of them, taken somewhere in the nebulous proximity of two in the morning. Seungyoon is holding the camera and pouting, Minho is trying to wink and do a cool pose at the same time and mostly failing at both, Seunghoon is throwing up a peace sign with a smirk, and Jinwoo just looks hauntingly, unfairly beautiful, even though Minho knows for a fact that he'd been so drunk at that point he'd stopped talking almost altogether, because he didn't want anyone to notice how badly he was slurring. Minho remembers Seungyoon pulling them together into the frame and telling them to get ready, before he blinded them all with the flash. 

He texts the chat, _We all look like idiots, except Jinwoo hyung._ Jinwoo sends a sticker of a blushing teddy bear, and Seungyoon sends, _I'm getting that framed!_

And early on Monday morning, before they're even out the door, Minho gets an email from their manager to meet him in his office for a meeting that afternoon. They have weekly meetings, most weeks, all four of them and Yoo Si Mon and normally a couple of producers, but Minho doesn't see any of the usual names in the email. Just his, and Seungyoon's. 

When he meets Seungyoon in front of manager Yoo's office, Seungyoon looks just as confused as Minho feels. Off of Minho's puzzled look, he says, "I don't know either. We're about to find out."

Manager Yoo doesn't look like he's in a good mood. Minho and Seungyoon sit with his desk between them, and there's some kind of unease in the air emanating from him that makes Minho think that he should already feel guilty, although he has no idea what for. 

Manager Yoo opens with, "What I'm about to show you doesn't leave this room."

He turns his monitor screen towards the pair of them, and hits play on a video.

It's dark and grainy, and at first, Minho isn't sure what he's meant to be seeing. The image is of the outside of a house at night, clearly filmed from a distance, probably with some kind of telescopic lens. And then, after a quick zoom and a couple of seconds of adjusting the focus, the picture sharpens, and Minho recognises the hot tub.

Two men, shirtless, one in the other's lap, their arms around each other. They move their faces closer together, and although the angle isn't ideal, it's good enough for it to be unmistakable that they're kissing.

For a moment, it seems like it could be anyone, and then one of them moves his arm on the other's back, and Minho can see the dark outlines of a circular tattoo between his shoulder blades. A tattoo that, if the image quality were any better, would clearly say _fear only god, hate only sins._

Proverbs 8:13. 

He watches as Bobby's hips roll down. Maybe it's the angle, or the bad quality of the image, but it looks obscene, much more than it actually was. And then, they stop, and after a minute, Bobby leaves. The lens catches his face as he pulls his jacket on. It continues filming until Minho sees himself get up, and there's no mistaking him — his thin frame, his hair, all of his tattoos clear and on display for the camera to catch them.

Yoo Si Mon stops the video, and turns the monitor back around. He looks at Seungyoon, and then at Minho. "They're asking for money not to leak it."

Minho can't believe he's still alive and sitting in this chair. The first thing he thinks of is his parents. He'd planned on living his life without them ever knowing he was bisexual. That's why he wrote his letters and never sent them — he still had a secret, but it stayed where he could keep an eye on it. Until now.

And then he thinks of Bobby's family watching it, Jiun seeing his baby brother grinding in a hot tub. 

And then, the headlines. Someone as famous as Bobby and Mino, caught in something like this? _Together?_ It would be everywhere, immediately. He can already picture the comments that would flood his Instagram, that would flood the SNS accounts of everyone associated with the two of them. None of them would be spared. They'd be finished in a second, and this would be with them for the rest of their lives. 

He feels like his heart stopped the second he saw Bobby kissing him on video, when he saw himself kissing Bobby back and wrapping his arms around him. He risks a look at Seungyoon — he seems frozen in shock, staring at their manager with wide, unblinking eyes.

"We'll pay," Yoo Si Mon goes on, voice controlled, "just as we have always done." 

"Hyung-nim," Minho says, and the only reason he's able to stand up and do a ninety-degree bow is because muscle memory is one hell of a thing. "Thank you so much. I am so sorry to put you in this situation." He doesn't feel like he has any control of his body whatsoever. Like he's flying on autopilot.

Manager Yoo sighs. "Sit down, Minho-yah." Minho sits, his movements robotic. Manager Yoo twists his pen between his fingers in a nervous gesture. "iKON's managers are handling this with Jiwon and Hanbin. They know the situation." Minho feels sweat, cold, between his shoulder blades. Of course Hanbin would find out about this, he's iKON's leader, but knowing that doesn't make him feel any better.

"I specifically warned you about this, and you still got spotted." Manager Yoo trains his eyes on Seungyoon. "You made a big sacrifice when you signed your contracts, Seungyoon-ah," he says. "All of you knew, going in, that giving up a significant part of your personal lives is indivisible from having a successful career. It's a part of what it means to be an idol. You know cameras will follow wherever you go, whether you want them to or not." He clicks his pen on and off again. "All I'm asking is that you're not naive about that. I know you boys aren't stupid."

"Yes, hyung-nim, of course," Seungyoon says. He sounds like he's talking around a lump in his throat. He still hasn't really moved, but he's pale, and his hands are gripping his knees tightly.

"Usually, there are lines people respect, even when it comes to things like this," manager Yoo says, "but there's always a scumbag or two who only cares about the money." He meets Minho's eyes. Minho wants to run out of the room and curl up on himself until the panic stops eating through his insides. 

Manager Yoo doesn't look angry, just pained. He probably didn't think he would ever have to have this conversation with any of them. About girls, maybe, but not about this. Not after Taehyun had left. "I wanted you to see what happens when you're not careful," he says. "And I told you to be careful."

"It's all my fault," Seungyoon says, suddenly. Minho is puzzling over how that could be true since it wasn't Seungyoon who got him and Bobby in that hot tub, when Seungyoon says, "I sent the letters."

Minho can feel his throat closing up. Anxiety climbs from the pit of his stomach and up, up, using his vertebrae as handholds, to the nape of his neck, where it digs its claws in. His head swims with lack of oxygen. 

Manager Yoo puts his pen on the desk with exaggerated care. "What letters, Seungyoon-ah?"

Seungyoon turns to Minho. He looks like he's about to cry. "I'm so sorry, Minho-yah."

The battered old Air Jordans shoe box at the top of the closet, where the cats can't get to it, containing five pieces of Minho's heart.

"I just wanted you to be happy." Seungyoon smiles, but it's barely anything — his lips twitch upward for a moment, and then draw back down again. "I thought it would be safe because we're all friends. That you'd have a better chance with— with more people."

It doesn't seem like this is Minho's life anymore. It's happening to someone else, all of this. All he can do is watch it play out, and hope that the ending is worth the struggle it takes to get to it. 

"They were sealed," Minho says, and it's like he's watching himself on television — his words don't sound like they wholly belong to him. "How did you know they were love letters?"

"Oh, an educated guess," Seungyoon says. He sniffles. He presses at his eyes with the heels of his palms. "I'm your leader, I'm good at those." He takes a deep breath, and it sounds wet around the edges. "I never wanted things to go like this, though. I'm so sorry." He swallows thickly. "I nearly ruined it for all of us."

Minho glances at Yoo Si Mon. He's looking between the two of them with an increasingly uncomfortable expression on his face. Minho can't have this conversation in front of their manager. He can't risk Seunghoon's name coming up, implicating him as well. He won't allow this becoming any worse than it already is.

"Yoonie," he says, and looks back to Seungyoon, who is blinking faster than anyone normally would, looking ceiling-ward, "please don't play matchmaker. Okay?" Seungyoon nods miserably.

Minho has to salvage this. He owes it to the four of them to not make his romantic fuckups and his sexual crises into the second worst thing that's happened to Winner. He pushes his anxiety down and stomps it out. He forces himself to be the kind of person Seungyoon needs him to be, at least for that moment. He takes a breath, and he says, "But, don't feel bad for wanting me to be happy."

"I promise, I won't— I won't ever meddle in your life like that again," Seungyoon says, and the tears brim over and spill from his eyes, and Minho _hates_ that with every fibre of his being. He doesn't hate anything more in this world than seeing Kang Seungyoon hurting.

He reaches over the gap between them, over his chair, and pulls Seungyoon into a hug. The arm of the chair is digging into his stomach, but he hugs Seungyoon so tight all his muscles are shaking. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Seungyoon hiccups a sob into his shoulder, "I won't ever do anything that stupid again." 

Manager Yoo clears his throat. "Guys," he says. Minho rubs Seungyoon's back, and lets him get the shoulder of his hoodie all wet. Seungyoon has his hands to his mouth, trying to stifle his sobs, to little success.

"You can— you can take the rest of the day off," manager Yoo says, trying to catch Minho's eye. Minho's vision clears when he blinks, tears rolling down his cheeks, and he sees manager Yoo reaching for the tissues he keeps on his desk. He hands Minho the whole box. Minho takes it, one hand still rubbing Seungyoon's back.

They take the rest of the day off.

  


* * *

  


They go to Minho and Jinwoo's place and spend the rest of Monday marathoning _Legend of the Blue Sea_ on their couch. They don't even talk about it — they just sit on the sofa, and Minho switches the show on. Seungyoon puts his feet up, and Minho curls up next to him, throwing a blanket over the both of them. The apartment is quiet enough that Minho can hear the humidifier working, and that he can hear Seungyoon's heartbeat slowing down from a panicked thumping to a relaxed beat the longer they sit together.

They don't even get halfway through the first episode before the cats take ownership of the blanket. Rei, and then Bei, jump up on Minho and press themselves in the crook of his legs, right against his ass. It takes Jhonny a little longer — they're in the middle of the second episode when she scratches at Seungyoon's side of the blanket. He lifts it up so she can get underneath, and when she does, he dutifully closes it over her.

It isn't until the fourth episode that Seungyoon says, softly, "Minho-yah."

Minho has his head resting on Seungyoon's shoulder. "Hmm."

Seungyoon's arm is around him. He rubs at Minho's shoulder, just gentle enough that Minho knows his hand is there. Minho lifts his shoulder in a lazy shrug, to let Seungyoon know he doesn't mind. It's familiar. They're okay. They weren't ever going to be anything less than okay.

And then Seungyoon says, "Can I ask about Bobby?" 

Minho closes his eyes. "You can."

"Do you love him?"

It's such a Seungyoon question. Minho inhales through his nose. The blanket, pulled up to his chin, smells like fabric softener. Whoever washed it last used too much, and the smell hasn't shifted for weeks. 

He'd texted Bobby on the way home from the meeting with their manager. _Are you okay?_ He didn't get a reply, so he texted again. _I'm sorry._ And then, after more silence from Bobby's end, he wrote, _Please understand this is my fault. I hope we can be okay after this._

Bobby did reply to that one, with just _Ok,_ and nothing else. Minho didn't want to look at his phone after that.

"Of course I love him," Minho says now. "But I love you, too."

Seungyoon says, barely audible over the sound of the TV, "Oh. Right."

"He doesn't love me in a way that I can give back," Minho says. He opens his eyes. There's something very dramatic happening on screen between a bunch of secondary characters, but he can barely keep them all straight. Seungyoon lets out a soft _huh_ and moves his arm, and Minho presses into his side, tighter. It makes the perpetual buzzing under his skin quieter. They're going to overheat soon, and normally Seungyoon would complain and throw the blanket off, but neither of them want to disturb the cats. 

Seungyoon draws patterns on Minho's upper arm, which means he's thinking. "Have you… talked about it?" 

Minho huffs. "Kind of." His breath warms the fabric of the blanket. "Not really."

Seungyoon hums thoughtfully. He stops moving his hand, content to just keep it around Minho's shoulder, and then he stays quiet for a very long time. Long enough for Minho to figure out that the rich lady's housekeeper is the protagonist's secret mother who abandoned him as a kid, and that her boss is the woman who is getting conned by the protagonist's mentor. And then, just after a near-miss scene where the protagonist and his estranged mother almost find out about each other's existence, Seungyoon says, "What about Hoony hyung? One of the letters was addressed to him."

Minho's heart clenches, and he wills himself not to let it show. He concentrates very hard on lying just as relaxed as he was. The silence between them must be too long for Seungyoon's liking, because he says, "Minho-yah. I have to know if you're okay."

"I'm fine," Minho says. He hasn't thought about kissing Seunghoon since the party. "The letter didn't work." What he _has_ been thinking about is Seunghoon looking down his nose at him, throwing out the bait and waiting for Minho to take it, raring for a fight. But that's different. "I don't know if hyung is okay, though."

Seungyoon nods. Minho feels it against the top of his head. "Yeah. I noticed. I'll try to talk to him," he says, and he sounds like he's really trying to keep his leader voice from coming out. On screen, the theme song starts playing as the two protagonists make eye contact for a very long, meaningful time. "Oh my god, he's so in love with her and he has _no_ idea," Seungyoon says, chuckling. "Look at that. Who looks at anyone like that unless they're smitten?"

Minho snorts. "Really good actors." His phone vibrates and lights up on the coffee table. He groans. It vibrates again, showing another notification, but it's too far away for him to read it, and he doesn't want to get up.

Seungyoon pokes his shoulder. "It could be important." With a petulant grunt, Minho leans forward to take his phone, pulling the blanket off Seungyoon and causing a displeased cat growl to come from somewhere in the region of his ass. Rei jumps off onto the floor, gives Minho an offended look, and stalks off towards Jinwoo's room. 

Minho unlocks his phone to two texts from Jiho. The first one says, _tnx for coming to the party and helping out with the cake. I found a chunk of strawberry in my belly button yesterday lol._ Minho wrinkles his nose at the mental image. In the second one, Jiho writes, _it was great to hang out with you again. let's do it again soon,_ and he sends two blue hearts and a hugging emoji. 

Minho types back, _first of all gross, hyung please take a shower._ He sends a sticker of a duck crying. And then he sends, _you too. let's see each other often,_ and two blue heart emojis right back.

When he puts his phone down and goes back to get comfortable against Seungyoon on the sofa, Seungyoon is grinning. "What?" Minho asks. He nudges at Seungyoon's arm until Seungyoon lifts it up and lets him lean flush against his side.

"You looked so happy just then," Seungyoon says. He pats Minho's head. "It's nice."

Minho huffs a laugh through his teeth. "Don't be sappy, Seungyoonie," he says. "Let's watch the show. I want to know how long it takes him to realise that he's in love."

  


* * *

  


About a week later, it's four in the morning, and Jiho is in the studio. Minho knows that because they'd been texting until around eleven in the evening, when Jiho went quiet, which usually means he's asleep or working. This time, though, he's working, because at around four in the morning, give or take a couple of minutes, Jiho sends him a video from his studio. 

Minho is sitting on top of the covers on his bed, legs crossed and sketchpad balanced on one of his knees. He can't sleep. All the lights in the room are on, but Jhonny isn't bothered — she's curled up between two of his pillows, looking like a pillow herself, napping away. Minho wishes he could join her, but his whole body has been buzzing with nervous energy for hours now, with no end in sight.

When Jiho texts him, Minho is drawing. A monkey, an ox, and a pig, circling around a bloom of hibiscus flowers. The monkey is grinning, its teeth sharp. The pig is drooling. He's just adding huffs of breath to the ox's flared nostrils when his phone vibrates and a notification lights up the screen.

He opens the video Jiho sent him. It shows the mixing console and the red wall, and Jiho's computer in one corner. There's music playing. Minho doesn't recognise it. He doesn't think he's ever heard it, but it sounds like Jiho. The beat is slow, and intense — other than the synthesised percussion and drums, he can't make out any specific instruments. And then, he clearly hears the sound of a haegeum, and the video ends.

Minho sets his pen down, and leans down to grope under the bed for his headphones. He plugs them into his phone. He plays the video again. He taps his fingers on his thigh as it plays, and then when it's done, he picks up his pen, and plays it a third time. He flips his sketchpad to a new page. He starts writing down a verse. He clicks play on the video again, and writes the hook. He reads it, and then crosses out the hook, and quickly types to Jiho, _hyung this is so good._

Jiho sends him a hugging emoji, and a pink heart. Minho grins at his phone. He thumbs through the stickers on the app, and sends one of a rabbit blowing hearts. Jiho sends him a startled chicken back, and Minho laughs, his chest filling up with warmth. He sends, _still at the studio, huh?_

_Still awake, huh?_ Jiho replies, followed by string of cross-eyed emojis with their tongue out. Minho doesn't even know what that one's called, but Jiho uses it often enough that he only associates it with him now. _I can hear you thinking from over here,_ Jiho writes him.

Minho lets himself fall back on his pillows, narrowly missing Jhonny. She looks at him with sleepy eyes for a moment, and then curls up tighter, covering her face with a front paw. Minho saves the video Jiho sent to his phone, and plays it a couple more times before he replies with, _can't help it. haven't slept properly for a week. there's a lot going on._

_If you want a distraction, come help me finish that track,_ Jiho sends. _I've been stuck on the outro for hours._ And then, while Minho is still thinking about it, Jiho adds, _Tomorrow night?_

Minho checks his schedule. They have a radio show in the evening, and an interview for GQ after lunch. The morning is reserved for meetings with their production and marketing teams, about the schedule of the teasers for the new album, the photobook shoot, and discussions about the tracklist. 

Minho closes the calendar app. He opens the video Jiho sent him, and plays it again. He rests his phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling as the music plays. The sound quality isn't great, but it's good enough. There's melodies and words buzzing around in his head — there's no way he'll be able to sleep tonight. 

He picks his phone back up, and he types, _how about now?_

  


* * *

  


Jiho's studio smells like ramyun and air freshener, and when he buzzes Minho in, he's eating a cup of noodles. His hair is long enough to get in the way, so he ties it back with a rubber band that he keeps around his wrist. The flavour of the ramyun is spicy octopus, Minho notices when Jiho tosses the cup, basketball player style, into the bin on the other side of the room. He doesn't miss. 

Minho sits down in one of the chairs in front of the mixing console. The computer has several songs open, and a text file with lyrics. Minho's eyes slide over the first couple of lines, and catch words like _blossom,_ and _unfamiliar,_ and the phrase _I'll stay by your side,_ and then Jiho leans over to minimise the window. 

"That one won't be done for a while," he says apologetically. He rolls his chair over next to Minho, and brings up one of the songs. Minho picks up the discarded pair of headphones, and he's about to put them on when Jiho stops him with a touch of his hand to Minho's forearm. "Speakers," he says, and Minho puts the headphones back down. Jiho hits play, and leans back in his chair as the music starts.

It's the same song he'd sent Minho earlier, but hearing it through proper speakers is incredible. Minho sits, elbows on his knees, chin on his hands, and listens. There's a part of it, a part he hasn't heard before, that sounds like billiard balls clicking against each other. There's another part where the beat swells, peaks, and then diffuses. The feeling that sound gives him is like emptying a bag of marbles on a tile floor, watching them scatter across the room and bounce into the corners.

The song ends, abruptly. When Minho look over, Jiho makes a face at him. "That's as far as I got," he says.

It's five in the morning. Minho is wide awake. He fishes a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket, and hands it to Jiho. "Read that," he says. Jiho raises his eyebrows, but he unfolds the page Minho tore out of his sketchpad. He watches Jiho's eyes dart across the paper, and then Jiho is wordlessly handing him the paper back. He reaches towards the keyboard.

"Try it from the second line you wrote," he tells Minho, scrolling to a certain bit in the song. He hits play, and Minho waits a second until he can follow the beat, and then raps out the part that Jiho pointed out.

When Minho is out of words, Jiho stops the song. His smile is huge when he turns to Minho. "Okay," he says.

Minho laughs. "Yeah?"

Jiho nods. "Let's fucking do this."

It's been since _Show Me The Money_ that they were in a studio together, writing. It's like it's been no time at all. They fall into a familiar pattern — Minho with his knees drawn up in the chair, hands on the mixing console, and Jiho at the keyboard and mouse, tweaking the instruments. Jiho gets a pad of paper and sketches out a structure, from the intro to the verses and the hook, and then they play around with it to see how many different ways they can make it sound.

Jiho plays it back, and they listen, and then they stop and tweak the pitch here, the bass there, and he plays it back again. Minho steals the paper at one point and starts to draw next to Jiho's doodles — a tiger, an octopus, a hibiscus again. He listens to Jiho working the whole time, interjecting with suggestions to slow down the drums, to add more keyboards, to leave the haegeum room to breathe. Jiho complies, fingers flying across the keyboard like it's all muscle memory.

At some point, when Minho is finishing the last details on the octopus he drew, Jiho pushes his chair back and says, "Come have a look." Minho moves his chair in front of the computer so that he can see the waveform. "I'm too close to it, I need a break," Jiho says, and then he says, "Play the whole thing again."

Minho scrolls to the beginning of the track, chuckling. "So which is it? Are we taking a break or not?"

Jiho scoffs a laugh. "Just play the song, wiseass."

Minho hits play, and watches the line travel through the song as it unfolds. He stares at the waveform moving, not really seeing it, trying to focus on the sound. It's different than what they started out with, but the core elements of what made Minho fall in love with it are still there. The slow buildup and the drop. The beat that sounds like a heart in the hook. The haegeum, which to Minho had always sounded like a person crying, but in a beautiful way.

It doesn't sound like Jiho anymore — when it reaches the end of the song and the last part plays, ending with silence, it sounds like the both of them.

He turns around to find Jiho closer than he'd left him. He's standing next to Minho's chair, leaning down with his hands braced on his knees so that they're at about eye level. Minho smiles wide when he realises Jiho was watching him listen to the song. "I really," he says, turning his chair around fully so he can face Jiho, "really like it."

Jiho nods. "You can have it."

Minho widens his eyes. "What?"

"I wrote it for you," Jiho says, a smile forming on his face, small and shy at first, and then wider. "Didn't I say that?"

Minho shakes his head. "Hyung, I can't do that," he says. "This is your work. I was just here to help with testing out ideas." He thinks, _this is too good for me,_ but he would never say it. Not to anyone, but especially not to Jiho. There's being humble, and then there's belittling yourself. He'll only do the latter in his head.

"You aren't hearing me, Minho-yah," Jiho says. He puts a hand on Minho's shoulder, catching Minho's eyes with his own. "I wrote it _for you,_ " he repeats, more firmly.

"Oh," Minho says, blinking owlishly. "Thanks, hyung." Jiho goes to move his hand from Minho's shoulder, but Minho catches it with both of his hands. Jiho gives him a puzzled look, but he doesn't attempt to make him let go. "I really miss doing stuff like this with you, sometimes." Minho nods to the studio, the keyboard, the mixing console, even the ramyun cup in the bin. 

"I miss it, too," Jiho says. There's longing tucked into the corners of his smile, which Minho recognises because he carries it with him too, folded in the gaps between his fingers. When he spreads them on Jiho's arm, it leaks out.

Jiho leans forward then, and Minho closes his eyes. 

Dry and slower than they need to, Jiho's lips press a kiss to Minho's forehead. Minho's mouth falls open on an exhale, and he tilts his chin up. Jiho moves away, and Minho's eyes open slow, careful.

"Every day," Jiho says. The words make the inside of Minho's chest tingle. Jiho is still close enough that Minho could count his eyelashes, if he wanted to. "I've been thinking about something a lot," Jiho says, like he's continuing a previous conversation.

"Yeah? What?" Minho asks. He rubs his thumb along the inside of Jiho's wrist, where the skin is soft and thin, where he knows Jiho's ticklish. When Jiho ducks his head to laugh, Minho grins triumphantly.

"Minho-yah," Jiho grouses, tugging his hands out of Minho's reach. "Really, be serious. I'm trying to say something." He's still grinning, though. He's still close. 

"Sorry, hyung," Minho says, smiling. "What is it?"

"The letter you wrote," Jiho says. Minho nods, but his smile falters. He lets it dim and die, because Jiho looks serious, his face set. "You wrote that I'm the reason you realised some things about yourself."

Minho still remembers the feeling that had, against all odds, pushed through the denial. That had pushed through the bargaining, the guilt and the pain, until it broke through to the other side and left Minho with the version of himself he had to exist as, for the rest of his life, despite how difficult it was going to be. For better, and for worse.

Minho sees that same thing, now, spite for whatever might stand in his way, and grit against his own insecurities, looking out at him from Jiho's eyes. 

"Maybe you helped me realise some things, too," Jiho says. "It just took me longer."

Jiho leans forward, and Minho anticipates it.

He closes his eyes, so that when Jiho's lips press against his own, it's the only and most important thing he feels. Jiho opens his mouth, a little, and his tongue licks along the seam of Minho's lips, tasting, testing.

Minho lets him take as much time as he needs. He tilts his face up when Jiho moves, so that their lips stay connected even when Jiho is standing above him. He holds onto Jiho's hand until Jiho lets go, and then he lets Jiho cup his face. 

Minho lets his mouth fall open. He breathes out. Jiho breathes in. He lets his tongue meet Jiho's, and Jiho's hand is warm against his cheek.

Minho can feel his own heartbeat pick up, but it's not panic, it's not fear.

_I'm gonna tell you now that I have the courage— I really want to kiss you stupid on stage just to see the look on Verbal's face,_ Minho had written, drunkenly and clumsily, two years ago, in a badly-lit bar in Hongdae. _But not as a joke. I want to mean it, because I do, I do mean it, and I want it to mean something to you. Because you mean so much to me._

Jiho kisses him so carefully, like he's afraid Minho might break if he does anything more except push their lips gently together, if he tries for anything more insistent than dragging his tongue slowly against Minho's own. It makes everything that was wound tight in Minho relax and untangle, and he recognises the feeling. He felt it every time Jiho touched him. When he hugged him in front of the convenience store. When he put his arm around Minho in the bathtub at Jihoon's birthday party. Every time they held hands. 

When they separate, Minho leans forward to give Jiho another fleeting kiss, because he wants to see his delighted, surprised grin. He isn't disappointed. "It's been a while since I kissed anyone," Minho says and smiles, small and shy, by way of an apology. It's not technically a lie. He thinks about Bobby, briefly, and it's a dull stab of pain in his stomach. Instead, he focuses on Jiho, how warm his eyes look, and it helps.

"That means you need all the practice you can get," Jiho says. Minho huffs. He shoves at Jiho's shoulder, the movement pushing his own chair away from as Jiho cackles at him. "I'm right!" Jiho takes a step towards Minho, and then he's leaning close, his hands on the arms of Minho's chair. "And I'm a really good teacher."

Minho snorts. "Oh, come on—" and Jiho kisses him again. Minho meets him halfway, opening his mouth and feeling a rush when their tongues slide together, feeling a spark in the pit of his stomach when Jiho presses their lips together more urgently, when he angles his face a little so he can kiss Minho deeper. Minho lifts his arms up so he can hold Jiho's face in his hands and keep him there, and with every breath Jiho exhales against his lips, Minho feels the little light in his heart shine a bit brighter. He wants to drown in the feeling. 

But nothing is ever easy. Minho stops before he can get to that point where it's too good to want to, and Jiho pulls away with a small sigh. He sits down in his chair, and his cheeks are flushed, and his lips are dark, and Minho desperately wants to kiss him again, but instead he says, "We have to talk about this."

Jiho nods. He doesn't look like he wants to be joking around anymore. "I know how big of a risk this is," Jiho says. Minho wonders if Jiho's heart is going as fast as his own.

"You don't," Minho says. "You've only dated women." Jiho opens his mouth to protest, and Minho hurries to say, "Wait. Just listen to me."

Jiho exhales. He leans back in his chair. "Okay."

"When we started as trainees, we knew it was going to be impossible to date anyone for a while. And I'm fine with that," Minho says. "I was going to be willing to wait however many years it took until I was able to be seen with a girl and tell everyone: _Look. This is the woman I love._ "

Jiho looks like he's holding himself back from interrupting. He crosses his arms over his chest. Minho remembers Seolhyun, how they thought it could work because he was Zico, and because Yukwon had been in a public relationship for a while. And then, the catastrophic way it didn't work. There's a tight frown between Jiho's eyebrows as he listens. 

"But I like men too, and that…" Minho rubs the back of his neck. He looks at the floor, at his shoes. There's a scuff on the right toe, and he doesn't know how it got there. "I can't do that with a guy. I want to believe in a Korea where I'm accepted for who I am, but it's gonna be a long time until that happens." 

In his mind, he still hears the scrape of plastic against wood when manager Yoo had turned his screen back around after showing the video from the hot tub to them. His voice like ice when he said, _They're asking for money not to leak it._

Minho looks up from the floor. Up, at Jiho's knees, up at his shirt that's creased at the stomach from how he's holding himself, and up, until he meets Jiho's eyes and holds them, even though every part of him would rather be looking at the floor. He grips the armrests of his chair until the skin under his fingernails turns pale, and it helps, a little. 

"I'm not going to go on a date at Christmas with you, or hold hands in public, or wear couple clothes," he tells Jiho. He hopes hearing it hurts a little less than saying it, because he's not saying anything that they don't both already know. "I really want a future where I can do that and stay an idol, but I… I don't think I'm brave enough to walk that path." He pulls his lips between his teeth and squeezes them together until it stings. "I can't. I'm sorry."

It hurts that Seunghoon was right, that these are the things they have to accept if they want to keep their jobs, that they're not important enough to try for any kind of gesture that would impact anything. It's easier to stay in the industry and have it change them rather than change the industry itself. Minho doesn't think there's anyone out there who has enough pull to really make a difference, to make things shift for the better. Kim Heechul, maybe, but a lot of years have to pass, a lot of work has to be done for anyone to be able to be completely open about who they love without fearing for their careers.

The frown on Jiho's face smooths out. "I think we own enough Supreme between us for that to pass as couple clothes," he says, grinning, and Minho laughs weakly. "Minho-yah." Jiho leans forward and puts his hand on Minho's knee. "You're one of the bravest people I know." He squeezes Minho's knee, and Minho is trying to keep looking at his face, but he can feel his anxiety tugging at all his strings, trying to pull him away. "You take all the dirt the world throws at you and turn it into pearls," Jiho says. "And, shit, I'm going into this completely clueless, but I'm gonna give it my best, because I want to try being as brave as you."

The way Jiho is looking at him, eyes soft, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips, makes something big and warm in Minho's chest even bigger and warmer, threatening to spill over. 

"I can live with keeping this a secret for as long as we have to," Jiho says. "Don't worry." His eyes are searching Minho's face, for reassurance that his words are getting through to him. "Not about that."

All of this is bigger than just a kiss. Minho wonders if Jiho realises it, too. Or maybe Jiho had known already, and it's Minho who is just catching up. It feels like two ends of a circle finally meeting. He started out with writing a letter to Jiho three years ago, and today they're here, and it's now. He should say something meaningful, something that sounds as important as the situation feels. 

He covers Jiho's hand with his own. His fingers are cold. Jiho turns his hand so that their palms are pressed against each other. 

"Did you really write that song for me?" Minho asks. 

Jiho hums in acknowledgment. "I thought it would be a good intro to what I wanted to say." He smiles, wide and brief, and lets his eyes slip to the mixing console, and then back to Minho. "I thought it'd—" He pulls his lips back in a sneer, but it's not directed at Minho, or about him. "That it'd give me a chance over Seunghoon."

Minho lifts their joined hands, and presses Jiho's knuckles to his lips. Jiho shakes his head. He's frowning, but still not at Minho. "It's—"

"No, come here." Minho tugs on his hand, and Jiho leans forward. 

He pushes their lips together, and when Jiho opens his mouth, he pushes their tongues together. There's still the hint of ramyun on Jiho's, and Minho kisses him until it's gone, chasing Jiho's lips with his own every time Jiho pulls away for a moment, his breath soft but growing faster.

"Okay?" Minho says, almost a whisper. It takes him more than usual to open his eyes again, because he's trying to commit the feeling of Jiho's lips against his own to memory, the thrill of his breathing against Minho's skin, the taste of him.

Jiho's pupils are wider than when they started. His lips are darker. He looks from Minho's lips to his eyes, and he nods. "Yeah." Something has shifted between them.

"And, okay, don't laugh, but," Minho starts, and Jiho is already grinning, bright and swift like a sunrise, "I don't want to release it. I want it to be something that only we have." He doesn't know how else to say how he feels. He doesn't know how else to prove it, except with kisses and with this.

Jiho laughs, but he stops once he sees Minho isn't joining in. "Wait, you're serious?" he asks. "Really?" Minho nods. "Yah, that's the stupidest thing I've heard," Jiho says.

He knows Minho so well, because the second Minho scoffs indignantly, he leans forward to shut it off with a kiss. Minho hums in protest, even as he feels Jiho's smile against his lips.

"Fine," Jiho says when they separate, when Minho's lips are kiss wet and his heart is full, "it's your song, so be as stupid with it as you like."

"Thank you, Zico sunbaenim," Minho says. It's easier to make a joke than to think about things like — how he's never had anyone kiss him until he was smiling again before, or how warm their hands are now that they've been holding them, or how Jiho's hands would feel on his neck, on his chest, on his skin.

"I just wanna say, if you released it, you'd get at least two consecutive wins on Inkigayo," Jiho says. "At _least._ "

"I know," Minho says mildly, squeezing Jiho's hand. "I'm still not doing it."

"Three, maybe, if you timed the release right," Jiho muses. 

Minho sighs. "Hyung."

"A certified all-kill, too, probably," Jiho says, and Minho snorts. "My songs have done it before."

" _Jiho._ " Minho leans forward to kiss him, because Jiho is being an idiot, and because he can, and he wants to. Jiho sputters a surprised laugh against his lips. Like he's still not used to it. And neither is Minho, and he doesn't think he wants to be. "You're going to have to accept that I'm not releasing it," Minho says. "We'll make other songs."

"We'll make other songs," Jiho agrees, and he's leaning in for another kiss, and his lips are soft, and they fit perfectly against Minho's own, and — Minho's phone vibrates loudly on the mixing console.

He reaches for it, but Jiho says, "Wait," into the corner of Minho's mouth, and he kisses along the side of Minho's jaw.

Minho sighs. He can wait. He lets his head fall back.

Jiho's lips find the place on his neck where his pulse is beating closest to his skin. Jiho kisses that spot, first with lips, then with tongue and teeth, and Minho closes his eyes. 

His phone vibrates again.

Jiho says, "Wait," again, into the soft skin of Minho's neck, under his ear. His voice doesn't sound anything like Minho has ever heard, not from him. 

His palm traces the muscle of Minho's thigh. His fingers move up, and in, towards Minho's crotch, towards the inseam of his jeans, and Minho's legs fall open. 

Minho's phone vibrates for a third time. 

"I have to," he says, even though his fingers are already on the nape of Jiho's neck, where his hair is shorter and softer. Even though he's breathing like he'd been running.

Jiho presses one last kiss against the skin of Minho's neck, and then he sits back, worrying his lips with his teeth. His cheeks are flushed.

"Sorry," Minho says, grabbing his phone. He can feel his whole chest pounding with the force of his heartbeat. He concentrates on his breathing. It's easier to remember to inhale and exhale properly now that he doesn't have Jiho's lips on his skin. 

He has two missed notifications from his calendar, and one text from their manager, and with a sinking feeling, he realises that he has to be at a meeting at YG in two hours, and he's still wearing the clothes he wore yesterday, and he needs at _least_ a shave, if not a shower. The world won't stop for anything, least of all for Song Minho. 

Jiho lets him go. They will have more time, later. On the way out, he hugs Minho from behind and planting a wet kiss on the nape of his neck, squeezing him tightly until Minho laughs, and then turns around in Jiho's arms to kiss him again. Because he can, and he's still not used to that.

In the taxi back, Minho keeps pressing his fingers against his lips, trying to stamp the memory of their kisses into his skin. He texts Jiho, _thank you._

Jiho replies with, _I changed my mind. I'm keeping your letter,_ and Minho smiles down at his phone.

It's eight in the morning, February 14th. Valentine's Day.


	6. Chapter 6

" _I just don't get why you wouldn't tell me before,_ " Jihoon says through a blocked nose. He's lying on his side in bed, and his eyes are only half-open. 

Minho grabs a slice of kimbap with his chopsticks, and puts the whole thing into his mouth. It's spicy tuna and kimchi, graciously provided by their manager from the convenience store across the street. He chews, enjoying the taste, enjoying the fact his diet is over, at least until their nutritionist decides it's time for him to start a different one. 

" _I'm your best friend._ " Jihoon sounds so pathetic through his blocked nose, so much like he doesn't believe it.

Mortified, Minho swallows the rest of the kimbap without chewing. He sets the roll down on the napkin and grabs his phone from his lap, pointing the camera at his face. "Of course you are," he says. He can see his own face in the little rectangle in the corner. His eyes are wide. Jihoon closes his eyes, looking pained. "Jihoonie, don't be stupid. I love you."

" _And you waited until my birthday to tell me that you were dating—_ " Jihoon grimaces, and he starts coughing so loud that Minho has to turn the volume down on his headphones. He's been sick for three days, miserably texting Minho through all of it and sending him daily updates and pictures of all the Vita500 he's been drinking. Minho read somewhere that vitamin C didn't actually help with getting better once you were sick, it just helped you with not getting sick in the first place, but Jihoon was so proud that he was taking care of himself, Minho didn't have the heart to ruin that. " _That you were dating Bobby?_ " Jihoon finishes, his words chased by one last small cough.

"Well," Minho brings the microphone of his headphones closer to his mouth, "we aren't dating anymore." He looks around the dressing room to make sure nobody's heard him. It seems to be safe — Jinwoo and Seunghoon both have their headphones in, and one of the stylist noonas is blow drying Seungyoon's hair. She's trying to talk to him over the noise, but she has to almost yell for him to hear her. Their radio show is scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. 

" _I'm sorry about that,_ " Jihoon says. " _Shit, wait—_ " He holds his fingers to his nostrils, and gets up. Off camera, Minho can hear him blowing his nose. He eats another piece of kimbap, enjoying the crunch from the danmuji and the smoothness of the tuna. He'd missed food with flavour.

Jihoon pops back into frame, the camera shaking when his head hits the pillow. " _Listen, Minho, I'm totally cool with you being bi._ " Minho's chest feels warm. He squeezes his chopsticks in his fingers so that he doesn't grin as wide as he wants to, but then — it's Jihoon. He grins so wide his lips pull back from his gums. Jihoon sees that, and laughs. " _What, are you surprised?_ " he says. " _Idiot. I love you even when you fart next to me and then laugh at yourself, so why would I stop liking you because of something like this?_ "

Minho laughs. "I get it, alright, no need to bring up the farts." He smiles at his phone. "Thanks."

Jihoon rolls his eyes. " _You're welcome,_ " he says. " _But no more secrets, okay?_ " Minho shakes his head, and then nods, and then gives his phone camera a thumbs up. Jihoon laughs. " _Got it,_ " he says. Minho is not lying. He's just taking his time with the truth. It's different. " _Next time something like that happens, tell me,_ " Jihoon says. Minho nods. He will. He _will._ But not now, later, when he's alone, and Jihoon is better. " _I told you, um, about Taeil hyung._ " Jihoon hides his face in his duvet.

Minho hums, long and drawn out, enough to embarrass Jihoon even further and make him laugh into his pillow. "How's that going, by the way?"

" _Oh, no, it's going to be okay._ " Jihoon sniffles. " _All the hyungs should be enlisting by this time next year, so…_ " He trails off. Minho thoughtfully chews on his kimbap, waiting. Jihoon sighs, static in Minho's headphones. " _I'm okay with being friends. I don't really need anything more. I'll— I guess I'll see what it's like when— um, after our contracts with the agency have expired._ "

Minho grabs the bottle of water next to his phone, and takes a drink through the straw they gave him. The stylist noona was very strict about him not ruining his makeup. "That's this year, right?" He knows it is.

Jihoon nods. " _November. Jiho hyung has a plan, though._ " He coughs, and it sounds like he's got phlegm in his throat. " _I don't really want to think about it yet. Let's talk about something else._ " Minho nods, setting his water down. 

"Mino-ssi," the stylist noona calls. Minho looks up from his phone. She's holding a curling iron. "I need to fix your hair a little before you're ready to go."

"Okay, noona," Minho tells her, and to his phone he says, "I have to go. We can Facetime again later in the week, though." Then he'll tell Jihoon.

" _Oh, one more thing,_ " Jihoon says. Minho's finger stops, hovering over the button to end the call. " _Happy Valentine's Day!_ " He starts blowing kisses at his phone, his lips puckered like a fish. " _Love you!_ "

Minho laughs. He blows a kiss at Jihoon, making a heart out of his fingers, and ends the call.

The stylist noona chuckles, bringing the hot curling iron to his hair. "Girlfriend?" she asks. "Is she giving you any gifts today?"

Minho huffs a laugh. "I don't have a girlfriend." It's an automatic, learned response, like it's supposed to be. They've been trained to say it, all of them, regardless whether it's true or not, so Minho doesn't know why she even bothers asking.

But, he thinks, Jiho gave him a song. His chest feels funny at the thought, like there's something in there fighting to get out. 

"That was my best friend," he tells the stylist noona.

"Oh! P.O, right?" The stylist noona smiles. She takes a strand of his hair between her fingers and starts to curl it. "Block B fighting!"

Minho smiles, and raises a fist. "Fighting!" She giggles.

  


* * *

  


They're in a meeting with the choreographer, the dance team and their manager, going through different options for the choreography to the new title song, when Minho's phone vibrates in his jeans pocket. There's a rule about no phones at meetings, so he only gets to check it an hour and a half later, when they've wrapped up. He goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and freshen up — in fifteen minutes they're going to another meeting, this one with their manager and a handful of YG producers, who'll be presenting them with song choices for the other tracks on the album. He doesn't have much time to make himself appear more put together than he is. He's still barely sleeping, but the energy drinks and the BB cream help with hiding that.

Minho holds his phone with one hand and brushes his teeth with the other. He expects that the text is Jihoon's daily selfie, because he usually sends it around this time. Or it could be his sister getting back to him about what she wants to do for their dad's birthday. Or it could even be Seungri, who'd been mentioning he'd had something work related to talk to him about for weeks now, but had yet to follow up on it. 

He doesn't expect Bobby. The text says, _My aunt watched that radio show you guys did the other day! she says you worked hard and shes proud of you._ Bobby sends a grinning emoji, and then he says, _She says youre too skinny and you should come to dinner._

Minho spits toothpaste into the sink. He hasn't been to Bobby's family's restaurant in a long time, probably ever since they were promoting as Mobb together. Bobby's aunt had always called him _our Minho,_ and his uncle always asked after Minho's family, and the both of them made sure Minho went home with plastic containers full of leftovers. 

He meets his eyes in the mirror. There's dark around them. He forgot his BB cream at home, because of course he did. He pulls at the skin beneath his right eye, and sticks his tongue out at his reflection. Maybe Seungyoon will have something he can borrow to touch up.

He stares at Bobby's message. He hasn't spoken to Bobby since Jihoon's party. They haven't texted since Minho's attempt at an apology. Other things had gotten in the way of that, like Jiho kissing him, and Jihoon discovering he had feelings for his bandmate, and planning for Winner's comeback, and how whenever he thought of contacting Bobby first after his last string of texts, he felt acid hissing in his stomach, and his hands wouldn't listen to him and pick up the phone. But he's here now, with a solution right at his fingertips. 

He writes, _I'd love to._ And then he erases that, and writes, _Sure! Let me know when and I'll be there._ He sends it before he can change his mind.

His phone vibrates again just as they're about to start the next meeting. The leader of the dance team is struggling with the wireless keyboard, which stopped responding just before he tried to show everyone a presentation he made on current popular dance moves. As he attempts to figure out which buttons to press to reset the connection, Minho takes his phone out. 

Bobby's reply says, _Tomorrow night! Itll be good to see you._

Minho hopes that's true.

  


* * *

  


Bobby's family's restaurant is just like Minho remembers it. Clean, smelling like good food, with the radio playing in the background and sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen. Bobby's signature is on the wall. They've hung up a photo of iKON since Minho was last here, signed by everyone from the band. It was taken at the restaurant, and it looks fairly recent. Bobby has his arm around Hanbin's shoulders in it, and the photographer — Bobby's uncle, probably — clearly caught Hanbin mid-movement. His face is slightly blurry, but his huge smile is still unmistakable. Bobby's smile is smaller, more shy, like he's in the middle of realising that he's allowed to do it. Minho looks away from the picture, so that his heart has the chance to stop feeling like it will shrivel into nothing. 

Bobby's aunt comes out from the back to greet him, and when he bows to her, she hums her displeasure and pulls him into a rib-crunching hug instead. "Our Minho," she says, holding him out at arm's length so she can have a good look at him, "look at how handsome you are." Minho smiles, but she shakes her head, sadly. "What are they feeding you? You're all skin and bones."

"I have to be on a diet to look good, auntie," Minho says. 

"Nonsense," she says. "You're still growing. Our Jiwon has been taking good care of himself. Maybe you should ask him for advice."

"Yah, auntie, don't smother the boy," Bobby's uncle yells from the kitchen. He pops his head out and waves at Minho. Minho waves back, and then realises what he's doing, and bows instead. "Dinner is done soon!"

The restaurant is closed for the occasion. Bobby's aunt knows that's what it sometimes takes. Minho sits at their usual table, the one closest to the kitchen, and waits while Bobby's aunt goes back to the kitchen to help finish preparing the food. The radio plays an old Mamamoo song.

Minho fiddles with his phone, catching up on Instagram for only a couple of minutes when someone sits down opposite him. He looks up to see Bobby, wearing a nice light blue jumper, glasses and a smile that doesn't look forced. His outfit all but yells _good Korean son._ Minho wonders. 

"Hey," Bobby says, "thanks for coming." He ducks his head, scratching the back of his neck and grinning. "My aunt has been nagging me about getting you here for ages, she really misses you."

"Of course." Minho nods. "I'd never pass up on your aunt's cooking." It's not what he wants to say, really, but it's still the truth.

Bobby grins. It's only a little stiff at the edges. "That makes two of us." He reaches for the water, and starts pouring. "Hope you're hungry, because there's a lot of food."

Bobby isn't lying. It's just the four of them — Bobby's uncle and aunt, and Minho and Bobby — but there's enough samgyeopsal for twice the amount of people. Minho can see a plastic container full of leftovers in his future. He's already looking forward to the excitement on Jinwoo's face when he finds Bobby's aunt's cooking in their fridge. It will be a good way to repay him for the haejangguk. 

They eat. Bobby grills the meat. Minho shoves as many bean sprouts in his mouth as he can, relishing the way they crunch under his teeth. He overstuffs his kkaennip but braves it anyway, shoving the whole thing in his mouth and having to hide his chewing behind his hand. Bobby snickers at him, and puts more meat on his plate.

Bobby's uncle asks about Minho's family, and his job, and how songwriting is going. Minho talks about his sister's boyfriend coming to visit her when he was on leave, and how his sister complained that their mother had been dropping hints about him proposing the entire time he was at their place for dinner. He tells them he's working on new songs, and that he's been drawing again — Minho's uncle takes out his reading glasses so he can have a look at one of Minho's most recent drawings on his phone, a blue rose bush growing out of a tree stump.

Bobby tells them about Jhonny, and then Minho has to pass the phone around to show them a video he took of her in her strawberry outfit, where the picture keeps shaking because he was laughing too hard at her bemused, offended face to keep his phone steady. They talk about Bobby, too, about the music show performances, about his new hair colour and how much his aunt thinks it suits him, about _Love Scenario,_ and always, always how proud of Bobby they are. 

"We're proud of you both," Bobby's aunt says, and Minho blushes, pleased, as red as the ssamjang. Bobby's aunt pats Bobby's head and Bobby nods, embarrassed, mouth full of pork belly.

And then, after they've eaten all the meat and Bobby has cut the huge mushroom into bite-sized, perfect to grill pieces, and they've eaten that too, Bobby's aunt and uncle clear away the plates and suddenly Minho and Bobby are alone, either by accident or by design.

There's the sound of clattering dishes, soft music and quiet conversation from the kitchen, and Bobby is looking at Minho over the now turned off grill.

Minho wants to ask so many things — how Bobby's doing, how Hanbin's doing, how Bobby and Hanbin are doing, if Bobby still thinks about him like that, even sometimes, why hasn't he called, and if it's because he didn't want to or because he couldn't — but instead, he just takes the pitcher of water and refills both their glasses.

How do you even start a conversation that feels as big as this one should be?

_Sorry about the heartbreak, I wish I could feel what you wanted me to, but it turns out I was in love with someone else the whole time, without realising it?_

Minho sighs. He'd be furious with himself, but he's had too much food to be anything more than irritated.

"I've been stupid," he says. It's a start.

Bobby breathes a laugh, surprised. "What?"

"I really shouldn't have addressed th— your letter." He corrects himself at the last moment. Nobody else needs to know there was more than one letter. "If I hadn't, you never would have received it, and I could have avoided this whole thing." He scoops his shoulders, trying to make himself take up less space.

"I'm sorry." Minho says it formally, looking at the table, at his glass of water. Hoping Bobby gets it.

"It's— I mean," Bobby tries. "Hyung, I'm not unhappy I read it." He picks at a scratch on the table with a fingernail. "I'm glad," he says. "You sounded like you had things planned out, and that was… I liked reading that." He smiles at the cold grill. "Like, my whole life is full of things I can't be sure about. Are the fans going to like the album, will we get that sponsorship deal, is Jiun hyung's baby going to be healthy…"

Bobby huffs a breath. He's not wearing makeup — the skin under his eyes is paper thin and dark. Like he's not been getting much sleep, either. "And then, I know some stuff for sure." He looks up at Minho, and then quickly back down at the table. "I know that Jesus loves me, and that I can count on my family, and on Bin, and—" He digs his fingernail into the scratch on the table, trying to pick out a piece of plywood. "And I thought, I thought I could be sure of you loving me, because I thought I'd had it all figured out, but." He smiles, and it's big, and wide, and there's not a jot of happiness in it. Not in his smile or in his eyes. "That didn't work out."

"Bobby—"

"Bin and me had the stupidest fight the other day," Bobby says, forging on. He stops picking at the table, and closes his fist. "We argued about whose turn it was to take out the recycling, and I just started crying. I just started crying?" He repeats it like he can't believe himself. "I haven't done that in years." He sighs. "Shit, you should have seen Bin's face, he panicked so hard." He gives a little laugh, shaking his head. "So I told him everything, because I could always tell him everything."

Minho thinks back on their contract. _Rule five._ That's that one out of the window.

"It was like. It was ugly and awful," Bobby says, to his own hands, now clasped on the table. "It was worse than sitting in our manager's office and having to watch the tape from the party with Bin sitting right next to me." He wrinkles his nose. "I don't think— I think we still need to put some space between us. So that we can have another shot at being as close as we used to be." He looks up at Minho, meeting his eyes. "I don't think either of us can stand what's happening right now."

Minho isn't going to cry in Bobby's family's restaurant. "I'm telling you this because I don't ever want it to be ugly and awful with you," Bobby says. And he smiles, wide and dry. Like it's something he needs to do, and like if he does it enough, it'll feel better.

"It's not," Minho says. He wants to reach over the table and take Bobby's hand. "It won't be." He wants to get up and hug him. "I promise." Instead, he puts his hands between his thighs. He tangles his fingers together and presses down until his knuckles are pale. 

Bobby nods. "Okay." He sniffs. "I need to— I just need time to be with myself. I haven't had the chance to do that in a long time." He smiles again. This one is different than the last. It's a smile that wants to show that he's happy, because Bobby is one of the kindest people Minho knows. He doesn't want to hurt people he cares about by making them see him in pain. "Don't worry about me. I'm okay." He sounds like he really needs Minho to believe that, like he needs them both to believe it, so that it can become true.

Minho doesn't cry in Bobby's family's restaurant. When he's saying his goodbyes and his thanks, Bobby's aunt hugs him, and his uncle pats him on the shoulder. They give him a plastic bag full of leftovers, and Minho bows, ninety degrees, and Bobby's aunt shakes her head at him, fondly, and hugs him again. Bobby looks at his feet the entire time, but when Minho pulls him into a hug, he squeezes Minho tight, and Minho still doesn't cry. 

He makes it home — he kisses Jhonny until she complains, he says hello to Jinwoo and listens to his recap of the newest episode of the drama he's watching. He puts the leftovers in the fridge, and he still doesn't cry.

He sits at the window in his room, hunched over his sketchpad, headphones in, music on high, and he draws — fish swirling around a drain, big and small, fat and thin, with sharp teeth and long fins and with bulging eyes. 

Time slides away from him.

He blinks when his phone vibrates, and the display says it's two in the morning. Bobby's smiling face looks up from his lockscreen. He still hasn't bothered to change it. 

He doesn't look to check what the notification was for. He puts his phone back down, and he leans back in his chair until his face is parallel with the ceiling. His tears slide down the side of his face and into his hair. 

He throws the drawing away, and he changes his lockscreen.

  


* * *

  


Minho only remembers to read the text because he gets another one, at seven thirty, on the coattails of his alarm. He finds his phone under one of his pillows, and it takes him a couple of tries to unlock it, and then to focus enough on the screen to read the message, floating halfway between sleep and waking.

At two in the morning, Jiho had sent him: _I've been thinking about telling people. Would you be okay with it if I told people?_

At seven thirty in the morning, a Thursday, Jiho writes, _Kyung already knows._

Minho sits up in bed so quickly he gets a headrush, and Jhonny wakes with a start, looking at him with her eyes wide. His heart wants to pound its way out of his chest. His lungs want to squeeze themselves down to the size of a soybean.

He gets another message. He scrolls down, to where Jiho has written, _He was the one who convinced me to tell you in the first place._

Minho collapses back on the bed, dislodging a pillow and knocking it to the floor. His soul seems to need a couple of seconds longer to catch up, because it's only after he's stared at the ceiling for the space between two blinks of an eye that he can feel like he can breathe again, and like his heart won't fail on him.

He replies to Jiho with, _thank God for Park Kyung._ Jiho sends a blue heart emoji back, and a _good morning_ that makes Minho's stomach do a cartwheel. He wants to wake up next to Jiho. He wants to hear him say it into his skin. The thought makes him twist in bed to lie on his side, to curl up on himself. Jhonny jumps down and starts scratching on his door, asking to be let out.

_I'll tell the members today,_ he sends Jiho. Writing it down means he has to do it, and there's no room for chickening out. _And Jihoonie._

Jihoon said no more secrets. Minho was going to go to the gym in the morning, but instead he pulls his duvet over his head, and calls Jihoon on Facetime.

It takes Jihoon longer than usual to pick up. It's seven forty five in the morning. When Minho's call finally goes through, the screen is black until Jihoon says, " _Wait,_ " and he clicks on the bedside lamp. He's pale, his hair is tousled, and he barely has his eyes open. " _Where's the fire?_ " His voice sounds the way it does when he just wakes up, slow and hoarse.

The only light under the duvet comes from Minho's phone screen reflected on his face. A Kakao notification pops up as he's watching Jihoon struggling to stay awake. From Jiho, who writes, _you'll be fine. they all love you._ Minho swipes up to dismiss it. It makes his heart lighter, anyway.

"I'm trying something out, and I want you to be the first to know," he says.

Jihoon closes his eyes all the way. " _If it's skincare, you could have just texted me._ " His voice is even slower and softer, like sleep is winning. " _I don't have rehearsals until the afternoon. I was going to have a lie in._ "

"Stay awake, idiot," Minho says, with absolutely no bite to it. Jihoon opens one eye. Minho doesn't have his headphones, so he tucks the corners of the duvet closed tighter with his free hand. He turns down the volume on his phone. "Okay, listen." He hasn't prepared how to say this at all. He should have done, it would have been easier that way. But he's here now, and he can't back out. And he promised Jihoon he'd be honest.

Minho channels all of his fear into the fingertips that he grips the duvet with, and imagines it sliding out of him the tighter his grip becomes. Jihoon is his best friend, and he loves him, and if Minho can tell anyone, he can tell him.

So he does. He says, "Jiho and me kissed." Both of Jihoon's eyes fly open at that. "I…"

It feels stupid to say _love,_ because of course he does, and of course Jihoon knows that. They've been friends for years. _Love_ isn't a big word anymore, not when it's been with him for such a long time. Saying it would be wasting his breath, because it's nothing new. It's wonderful, and it's happy, and it keeps him afloat when he feels like he might sink, but it's been a part of him long enough that it feels like it was never not there.

"We're going to — I think he's my boyfriend now," he says instead. It's the same word, but it feels completely different when he says it now then when he said it about Bobby.

Jihoon turns in bed so he's lying on his stomach. His phone shakes, like he's propping it against his headboard. " _Minho,_ " he says. He brings a hand to his mouth. " _Minho,_ " he says again, muffled. " _Oh my god._ "

Minho is running out of oxygen under the duvet. From somewhere in the direction of the door, Jhonny meows, petulant. "Please don't tell anyone until you talk to Jiho." Hand still on his mouth, Jihoon nods. His eyes are huge. For a moment, Minho thinks the picture is frozen, but then he realises that, no, it's because Jihoon is lying so still. "Is that… okay?"

Jihoon removes his hand from his mouth. " _Yeah._ " And then he's smiling. " _Of course._ " He nods. " _Thanks for telling me. I'm really happy for you. Really._ " He leans on his arm, cupping his cheek with his hand. " _Fuck. Woo Jiho, huh? Now that you've said it, it makes sense._ " He laughs. Minho feels weightless.

He thinks about how he'll say it to the rest of Winner all day. He thinks about it all through the photoshoot they have in some alleys on a hill in Dongdaemun, and after, back in the studio when he's working on a new song. He's putting together a selection of tracks that he can present to Yang Hyunsuk — he wants to make a solo album, and he can't think of a better way to pitch the idea than showing how good it could sound. All through mixing, he goes over how he'll say it.

He washes his face in the men's bathroom, and mouths his speech, silent, at his reflection.

He traces his finger along the surface of the desk in the recording studio, spelling out the words.

Seungyoon joins him on the car ride back from YG. He's hauling a big paper bag with the logo of a photo studio printed on the side with him. "I said I'd get it framed," he says, grinning. "Four copies." Minho nods, not really listening, going over how he'll break the news to them in his head, filling the gaps between his sentences with what he imagines their reactions might be.

_It's complicated, but I'm seeing Jiho. Yes, Woo Jiho. No, I guess he's not straight. No, we aren't telling manager hyung. Yes, we'll be careful._

When they get to Minho and Jinwoo's apartment, there's voices coming from the living room. Seungyoon takes off his shoes, holding onto Minho's shoulder for balance, and calls out, "Hello?"

"We're here," Jinwoo's voice floats down the hallway, clear and with an edge of carefulness that strikes Minho as odd. He picks up Rei from where he's sniffing at Seungyoon's bag. Clearly not in the mood for it, Rei wriggles in his hands, twisting away and running off towards the living room. Minho follows him, Seungyoon trailing after.

They find Seunghoon and Jinwoo sitting together on the sofa. Seunghoon has Jhonny in his arms, and he's holding her like a child does a teddy after they've had a nightmare. Jinwoo is pouring them both wine. It's impossible for Minho to miss the two empty bottles that are already on the coffee table. 

"Hey, Minho-yah," Jinwoo says. He's wearing one of Minho's shirts. It used to be white, but due to a laundry mishap, it's now a pale pink. He replaces the bottle of wine on the table. He's wearing the bottom half of a tracksuit they bought together the last time they went out shopping. "Are you okay?" 

Seungyoon clatters in the kitchen, trying to find more wine glasses. Minho closes his gaping mouth. He clears his throat. "Is Seunghoon hyung okay?"

Seunghoon sniffs. He relaxes his grip on Jhonny, and she pours herself out from his lap and pads over to a corner of the sofa, preening. The colour is high in Seunghoon's cheeks, and he looks like his wine glass is permanently attached to his right hand. His eyes look sleepy, but there's also a puffiness to them, like he'd cried today.

"Fine," he says. Jinwoo hums, pulling out a cat hair from the fabric of his tracksuit. "I'm _fine,_ " Seunghoon insists.

Seungyoon plops down on the sofa next to him. He's holding two more wine glasses and a fresh bottle of wine. The glasses look slightly dusty — Minho didn't even know they had that many. "So I got the picture framed," he starts, at the same time that Jinwoo says, "Seunghoon wanted to talk to everyone about something."

Seungyoon sets the glasses down on the table, and takes the opened bottle of wine. "If it's about the drama we're watching today, can I please veto any changes?" He starts pouring, first for Minho, and then for himself. "We're right in the middle of _Descendants of the Sun._ " He finishes pouring, and takes his glass. "Not to be dramatic, but I need to know what happens."

Minho sits down close to Jhonny. He reaches out his hand towards her. She walks over, sniffing his fingers. "It's not about the drama," Jinwoo says. Jhonny rubs her head against Minho's hand, and he coos at her. "Minho-yah, please, can you focus?"

Minho looks over at him. Jinwoo's face is slightly flushed, the way it gets when he's well on his way to being drunk. Jinwoo takes a long sip of his wine. He's giving Minho a look over the brim of his glass. It's a _look,_ very deliberate and pointed. Minho feels like it's some sort of silent signal — but for what, he has no idea.

Seunghoon sighs, and takes a sip of his wine. "So," he begins. "It's the new year."

Seungyoon laughs. "It's almost March."

Seunghoon presses his glass against his cheek. "Can you please not interrupt, Seungyoon-ah. I'm only going to say this once." He bites his lip. "Probably."

Seungyoon shrugs. "Go ahead." He takes a sip of his wine.

"Hyung and me had a— long talk," Seunghoon says. Jinwoo drinks his wine quietly, still looking at Minho like he's trying to tell him something. Minho mouths _what,_ and Jinwoo rolls his eyes. "I want to spare you the boring details and just get the main point across." Seunghoon pauses. He closes his eyes, breathes out through his nose, and then opens his eyes again. "I can't do this," he says.

"Seunghoonie." Jinwoo puts a hand on Seunghoon's shoulder. He has to lean forward a little to do it, and the wine in his glass sloshes dangerously close to spilling. 

"Hyung, it's just us," Seungyoon says. "You can tell us anything." He's holding his wine with one hand, and he has his other hand on his leg, fingers jittering slightly like he wants to reach out and put his hand on Seunghoon's knee. Minho pulls his legs up onto the sofa, trying to catch Jinwoo's eye, but Jinwoo is looking at Seunghoon.

Seunghoon takes a long, long drink of wine from his glass, until he drains it. Minho watches his throat move. It makes him wonder whether crushes have expiration dates, because he doesn't feel like he needs to kiss him anymore.

Seunghoon sets his glass on the table. "Okay," he says, to himself more than to the rest of them. "It's just two words."

"It's just two words," Jinwoo agrees. He starts refilling Seunghoon's glass.

"What's two words?" Seungyoon asks, grinning at them.

His eyes closed, Seunghoon breathes out, "I'm gay."

Minho is glad he's sitting down, because his head spins so bad that he finally understands what people mean when they talk about the rug getting pulled out from underneath them. It feels like he's falling and like gravity doesn't exist at the same time. It feels like his body is trying to make him lose consciousness, but his brain is holding on by a thread, and so he just feels really, really dizzy for a couple of seconds.

He feels like he's looking at Seunghoon from the wrong end of a pair of binoculars, like he's very far away even though they're sitting on the same sofa.

Next to him, Seungyoon collapses into the cushions. The wine sloshes in his glass, and a couple of drops land on his hand. "What," he breathes out. He doesn't even notice that his hand is wet.

"I tried liking girls, but I can't," Seunghoon says. There's a hum in Minho's ears, like listening to a seashell, like the sea. "I don't feel anything when I look at girls, and I've tried to." Seunghoon's voice bends, almost breaks. "I really, really have." His eyes are shining. "I've been trying for years."

Minho stares at Seunghoon's shirt. It's white with thin blue horizontal stripes. It's creased, like he pulled it out of the dryer and wore it immediately without bothering to fold it. Like he rushed to get here.

"You don't have to try to be anything you aren't, hyung," Seungyoon says, voice gentle, and Jinwoo nods his wordless support. Minho wants to laugh, because it's ridiculous. He's been trying to be something he isn't for years — straight, not anxious, fearless. He feels the laugh in the back of his mind, but he's too stunned to have his throat make the sound. His body feels frozen, stuck. 

"I just— why didn't you come talk to me?" Seungyoon asks. He turns his head to look at Seunghoon. "We're roommates. I'm the leader. I'd listen. It's my _job_ to listen."

Seunghoon picks his wine glass back up, and takes a drink before he can talk again. "Well," he says, "because I thought it'd be safer to talk to Jinwoo hyung. He's gay, so I thought he'd get it."

"Wait, really?" Seungyoon gapes. 

Something in Minho's brain unfreezes. He sputters out, "Jinwoo is _what?_ "

Jinwoo chokes on the wine he's drinking, and he has to spit it back out into his glass. He coughs into his hand, bent over almost double.

To Seungyoon, over Jinwoo's coughing, Seunghoon deadpans, "Are you _serious._ "

"Well, you," Seungyoon says, pointing his wine glass at Seunghoon, sitting up straight now, " _you_ didn't know Bobby and Hanbin were dating!"

"I don't _live_ with Bobby and Hanbin," Seunghoon says haughtily. Jinwoo slaps his own chest, trying to get his breathing in order. "I didn't find _Bobby's_ secret Jack'd profile and realise it was him when he sent me a nude because I've seen it all already."

Clutching his glass like it's his only link to sanity, Seungyoon says, "What."

"Did that—" Minho tries. The rest of the sentence grinds to a halt and falls into pieces behind his teeth. His thoughts refuse to stay coherent for more than a few words. Seungyoon and Seunghoon both stop their bickering to look at him. He tries again. "Is that how you found out about Jinwoo hyung?"

"It's honestly fine," Jinwoo says, as quiet as he can. His face is scarlet.

Seungyoon, face going pink, says, "It's. Yeah, I'm sure that's fine, just." He clears his throat. The colour of his face is moving on to a light red. "Just— use protection." He's trying to use his leader voice, but it slips a little towards the end of the sentence.

"We weren't going to _fuck,_ " Seunghoon says, indignant, brandishing his wine glass like a knight does a glove before challenging someone to a duel.

Jinwoo, eyebrows raised, face almost a normal colour again, brings his glass to his lips. "We weren't?" he says into it. He drinks like he hadn't just spat the wine back into the glass, like they're just talking about the weather.

Seunghoon turns to him. Minho watches him watch Jinwoo's lips form around the rim of the glass as Jinwoo drinks, and the line of Jinwoo's jaw when he tilts his head like that.

"I mean," Seunghoon says.

Around the rim of the glass, Jinwoo smiles, and he's still smiling when he sets it back down on the table. He's still smiling when Seunghoon snorts a laugh, and looks down at his knees. 

Minho blurts out, "I'm dating Jiho."

Seungyoon looks like he's trying to disappear into the sofa cushions, into a world less complicated. "So I guess we aren't watching _Descendants of the Sun,_ " he says.

  


* * *

  


Minho's thoughts spill out from his mind onto the page, like they have always done. He's trying out life drawing again. He draws Jiho in his bed, asleep, and Jiho with his hair pushed back by his headphones, and the lines and planes of Jiho's back, the tattoo between his shoulder blades. And he writes, lyrics and melodies, sometimes, words in bathroom stalls and on his palm in pen and marker so he doesn't forget. _Tricep pushups, x20. Get dog treats. Call mum._

And he writes a letter. This one is in a fresh Moleskine, bought in a bookstore in Tokyo. He writes it in bed, leaning against the headboard with the notebook open on his lap.

_Jiho, it feels strange that we've come full circle like this. It started with you, and now you're here in a way I never thought you'd ever be. Thanks for seeing me for who I was before I was ready to. And for giving me courage when I had none for myself. It helped me accept all the parts that make me who I am, even those that I didn't think I'd ever like._

_I said I loved you more than I love anyone else, and that's never stopped. It just changed, and then it changed again. Remember when we went to noraebang with Jihoonie, and how later it was just the two of us, and you hugged me in front of the convenience store, and I cried? I think that's when it changed._

_And now here we are, again, and now here we are, new. And my heart is so full because, even though I can never clearly see the road ahead, and I don't know where it will end up leading me, I think I can be brave enough not to walk — to run. And this time, I'm sure who I want beside me — it's always you._

_A friend told me to let myself be loved, and that's what I'm trying to do. I hope you let me love you, too._

He tears the page out of the Moleskine. And he folds the letter, and he folds it again, and he slips out of bed, making sure not to disturb the covers too much. 

And he walks across the floor, sidestepping shirts, and trousers, and a towel, and Woo Jiho is still the messiest person he knows. And he slips the letter into the pocket of Jiho's hoodie, the one he wears around the house, the faded green one he always puts on when he wakes up.

He closes the door softly on his way out, not wanting to wake Jiho up because they both have the day off, and he's going to try and make them both scrambled eggs and kimchi, and he wants Jiho to wake up to the smell.

He burns the eggs and sets off the smoke alarm.

The date is March 14th, White Day.


	7. Epilogue

He stands in front of the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It feels like a bow gliding across his open nerves, the way he can just barely hear someone's footsteps going up the staircase at the other end of the hall.

He waits, hovering, his hand sweating around the neck of the bottle of wine. He should have bought a bag for it. He should have done something different with his hair. 

The footsteps thunder past, and continue upwards.

He breathes out. He fixes the collar of his jacket, furious because it always sticks up the other way from how it's meant to. He tugs at it until it stands in place. He shouldn't have chickened out of putting on eyeshadow at the last minute.

He figures he'd been standing here long enough. He rings the doorbell, pressing it down with the base of the bottle.

Jinwoo opens the door, and blinks at him.

He stands there, holding the wine.

Jinwoo blinks at him again.

Jinwoo says, "Oh," and weirdly, it sounds like he's trying not to cry. He looks sickeningly beautiful, even though he's wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms, no makeup and a big pink shirt that doesn't go with his current hair colour at all.

"Hey, Taehyun-ah," Jinwoo says, and even though his expression is horrified, and his face is pale, he still looks like _that._

Jealousy stings like heartburn in Taehyun's throat. He swallows it back down.

He says, "Is, um. Is Minho in?"

He pulls the letter out of his jacket pocket. "I got this in the mail."

It's crumpled from how many times he's read it and taken it out of pockets of jeans, shirts, jackets, and put it back in again. One corner of the envelope is torn from when he pulled it out too quickly, trying to save it from the washing machine.

"Oh," Jinwoo says again, looking from Taehyun's face to the letter, and then to the wine. His eyes catch on the tattoos on Taehyun's hands, and then go back to Taehyun's face. "This is gonna, um. It's gonna take some explaining," Jinwoo says, and he takes a step back, and he opens the door wider.

"You'd better come in."

**Author's Note:**

> [end credits.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=laY8wPfC-28)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> hey thanks for reading until the end! this was a really fun project that I worked hard on, and it wouldn't have come to light at all were it not for [madanach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madanach/), who was a wonderful beta and supported me throughout. any mistakes left in this are mine. and thanks to ikon for releasing [I'm ok](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqszm7AnX-4) just as I was writing chapter six and plugging straight into my brain!
> 
> this started out as me wanting to write bobby/minho fake dating, with all the usual tropes, but the more I got into the story the more I thought that maybe pretending to date your friend who admitted to having been in love with you for a certain period of time in the past in order to make your fresh ex who you are still in love with jealous so he'd try to get you back... well, it's not very healthy and I don't think it's in character for bobby to do it for a longer period of time. so there we go!
> 
> also with this I wanted to tell stories of different kinds of experiences and identities - a lot of people in this aren't straight, but they all have their own ways of expressing that and living with it. and it wa super important that none of this happens to minho only - it also happens to everyone else around him, to varying degrees, and along with that, people have their own lives to live and their problems to worry about. there's like at least three more fics in this that I won't write, like the jinwoo/seunghoon, or taehyun's side of the story, or the one where jinhwan knows literally everyone's business.
> 
> thanks for sticking along for the ride with me! thank you to every single person who's left comments, they made all of this so, so worthwhile. I love you and hope you have a wonderful day!!
> 
> I am on [twitter](https://twitter.com/fanxytelevision), and I also have a [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/eg9tart/), so don't hesitate to contact me there.


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